


Eyes of the Serpent

by motherofaprophet



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Drama, F/M, Friendship, Mystery, Post-Hogwarts, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-04-24 15:22:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14358249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motherofaprophet/pseuds/motherofaprophet
Summary: Hermione is left in the dark when strange things begin to unravel within her and the only one who can help her unlock the secret could be the original serpent that once thought to watch her die. Can she unearth the secret inside her before it's too late, or will it devour her humanity?





	1. Prologue

**Prologue**

  
_"Now the serpent was more crafty than any of the wild animals the Lord God had made. He said to the woman, “Did God really say, ‘You must not eat from any tree in the garden’?”_

_The woman said to the serpent, “We may eat fruit from the trees in the garden, but God did say, ‘You must not eat fruit from the tree that is in the middle of the garden, and you must not touch it, or you will die.’”_

_"You will not certainly die,” the serpent said to the woman. “For God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.”"  
-Genesis 3:1-4_

  
\----

 

"Do you think she's started to show signs?"

The chestnut-haired man leaned into the wind as torrents of rain pelted fellow wizards and witches fleeing the cobblestone streets in search of shelter. The night sky was black as ink and only the soft lamp light shining through the shop windows illuminated him and his companion as they stared into the warm glow of The Leaky Cauldron. Droplets of freezing water dripped from his sopping hood and silently fell away in the gale force winds that swirled the fabric at his feet. Soon the two mysterious figures were the only souls left out in the perilous conditions.

"It appears she still lives a normal, pathetic life. Typical of a retired hero," the flaxen-haired woman sniped above the sound of the storm. Her azure eyes scanned the small group gathered around the worn table inside the welcoming pub. Pulling her drenched cloak tighter around her petite frame, she glanced up at her tall comrade with a questioning lift of her delicate eyebrow. "Settling seems so unbecoming don't you think, my love?"

A sudden savage gust of wind blasted through the night, so strong that it rattled the windows, causing the tenants inside to glance nervously in their direction. For a moment, the pub went silent in anticipation, staring out into the darkness where the couple stood. To the crowd, the window would've only revealed a framed view of the obsidian night and foggy condensation; an illusion constructed by the cloaked woman outside.

"She seems...content," he replied, as if searching for a word that he had long forgotten the meaning of. Inside the pub, the woman they had been searching for smiled brightly at her fellow bar mates and said something the two of them couldn't hear. Her three friends grinned in return as the bar noise picked back up to normal levels and everyone turned back to their glasses and conversation. "Are you sure she isn't excluded from the effects?"

"Do you doubt me, sweetling?" the woman asked, feigning affection. "We will need her. I cannot say why it has not shown itself yet, but it will. In the meantime, we will collect what we need and search out the others, starting with that blithering feline."

A blaze of lightning illuminated their features just as a clash of thunder resonated through Diagon Alley, causing merchandise to shudder in the storefronts. The blonde turned sharply on her heel after one last, ominous look at the young woman in the pub; her towering companion following close behind and the two disapparated. No one would ever know they had been there.

Hours later, after the tireless downpour of rain subsided into tiny, gurgling streams flowing down the gutters, the sought-after group exited The Leaky Cauldron a little less sober than they had arrived. Stumbling down the street, the tallest of them threw his arm around the tawny haired witch.

"I 'ope you 'ad a good birfday ‘Mione," he slurred in her ear, leaning a little too heavily against her.

Grunting under his weight, she hefted him more securely on her shoulder. "It was great, Ron," Hermione responded, steering him in the direction of her apartment. "My 20th year is already off to a great start."

As the sounds of camaraderie faded in the distance, the city landscape fell into a deafening quiet and the moon finally poked through the thick curtain of cloud. A sliver of light fell upon the cobbled street in front of The Leaky Cauldron, as if to illuminate what nobody would ever see coming.


	2. In the Snake Den

** Chapter 2: In the Snake Den **

  
_“Were you always such a snake,” the child asked, “or did you grow into what you are?” – Dean Koontz_

  
\-----

  
Steam poured out through the open doorway as Hermione exited her bathroom wrapped in a fluffy red towel. The air in her bedroom was frigid compared to the balmy heat of her ensuite, and goosebumps quickly formed on her bare forearms and legs. Hastily throwing the damp towel aside, she rushed to pull on her underwear and bra, barely throwing a glance in the direction of the snoring lump currently taking up residence on her mattress.  
Ron hadn't moved a muscle since she had dragged him up the stairs to her apartment. He would probably be sleeping for most of the morning and early afternoon if last night’s inebriated state was any indication. Harry, Ron, and Ginny had taken her out for her 20th birthday and the pounding pressure behind her eyes must be a result of all the birthday drinks they had bestowed on her.

  
Ignoring the drool stain that was slowly growing on her satin pillow case, Hermione continued to dress for work. The slate pant suit and crisp button up shirt she had chosen were the usual uniform of choice for her job at the Ministry; the Department for the Regulation and Control for Magical Creatures was quickly becoming a home away from home for her. Her job usually involved tedious and often frustrating meetings with the creatures that inhabited the Wizarding World. She wouldn't lose hope that things would improve—change would happen eventually, she was sure.

  
After taming her damp hair into something professional, Hermione left her bedroom and padded into her small kitchen. No sunshine filtered through her wide living room windows as the rain from last night continued to pound against the panes. She was grateful for the bleak lighting as she rubbed at the pressure in her temples. This hangover was more than she had anticipated and the kettle on her stovetop looked more inviting than usual. Maybe the caffeine would help alleviate some of the pain in her head.

  
Once she had a strong cup of tea in her hand, she sank into the cushions on her floral print sofa and skimmed through that morning’s delivery of The Daily Prophet. Like clock work, Crookshanks wove his way between her legs, meowing incessantly in a plea for some breakfast. Ignoring him was futile, especially after he pounced on top of the newspaper in her lap and refused to be dislodged. Sighing heavily, Hermione got up and crossed the living room to the pantry.

  
"Here you go, you mangy beastie," she said to the grumpy feline as he began devouring his dry tidbits of cat food. "You're lucky Miss Bishop hasn't been here for awhile or she would tell me to skin you."

  
Susan Bishop was the salty old witch who owned the building Hermione rented from. The white-haired crone was overbearing, intrusive, and worst of all, she had her own key. On more than one occasion, Hermione had walked through her front door to find Miss Bishop examining the floors or counters then tell her how they weren't clean enough. She had a particular seething hatred toward Crookshanks and the amount of hair he left behind in his wake. She hadn’t stopped by in weeks, thankfully, and her absence had been a huge relief.

Finishing the last of her tea, Hermione grabbed her umbrella, tucked her wand into her jacket, and headed out the door. She prayed that the caffeine would lift the ache that had taken residence in her bones; hopefully she wasn't coming down with the flu.

The trip was more miserable than usual that morning. Her umbrella almost turned inside out multiple times before she even reached the bus stop, and freezing street water soaked through her shoes, leaving her toes numb. If she hadn't already been coming down with something, she most certainly would be now.

  
Hermione should have just apparated into the chambers that morning, but she'd wanted to breath some fresh air to clear the mugginess inside her skull before arriving at the Ministry. Plus, she still liked to practice some muggle habits, transportation being one of them. After all her misadventures with Ron and Harry, she realized that most of the time the journey was more important than the actual destination. But today, the journey was chilly and damp.

  
Finally, she reached Whitehall, ducked down an alley, and apparated into the Ministry of Magic. Folding her soaked umbrella, she hurried through the hordes of witches and wizards that were milling about on their way to and from work, court meetings, and other engagements. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was located on Level 4 and included the Beast, Being, and Spirit Divisions, the Goblin Liasons Office, and the Pest Advisory Bureau. Hermione worked primarily in the Beast, Being, and Spirit Divisions as a translator between species.

  
She had begun dabbling in languages as she was studying for her NEWTS and never really stopped. Being able to speak up for those creatures that were so often misunderstood included being able to sit down and have an actual conversation with them. Even if it didn't always result in a friendship afterward.

  
Her loafers squeaked against the floor as she walked to her desk in the corner of the main office; one of the many scattered around the large room. The windows depicted clear sky and sunshine, which Hermione thought was a cruel joke as she hung her soggy jacket on the back of her chair.

  
"Hermione! How are you this morning, dear?"

  
Hermione's head swivelled in Felicity Gibson's direction. Her co-worker’s grey hair was pinned in a twist on the back of her head. The half-moon glasses she always wore attached to a chain swayed atop her ample bosom as she strolled up the aisle. Her yellow duck patterned umbrella was folded under her arm.

  
"I'm doing well, Felicity. How are you?" Hermione replied with a friendly grin. She'd always enjoyed Felicity's unique flair and motherly personality.

  
"Spectacular! Did you have a good birthday?" Felicity asked, seating herself in the cubicle across from Hermione's, the chair to creaked under her weight as she rummaged around to settle herself.

  
"It was wonderful! Harry and Ginny met Ron and I at The Leaky Cauldron for some drinks. Although, Ron might've had more than some…I'm sure he'll be sleeping it off for most of the day today." Hermione absently checked her interdepartmental memos.

  
Felicity clucked her tongue as she conjured a pot of tea. "Well, as long as you had a good time as well, my dear. That's all that matters on your birthday. Every other day of the year your man can drink himself silly, but on your birthday you should be the one carried home!"  
The memory of dragging Ron's limp form up the stairs flashed across Hermione's mind and her mouth tightened a little around the edges. The older woman smirked knowingly. She pulled an unfinished quilt out of her desk drawer along with knitting needles and a bunch of tangled yarn. Felicity always started her day with coffee and a bit of sewing.

  
Placing the older woman's comment into the back of her mind, Hermione focused again on the tiny, violet coloured memo airplanes circling around her work area. Only one of great importance: one from the Head of the Division, Ridgewell Hawke, requesting she see him in his office as soon as she arrived. Rising from her seat, Hermione left Felicity and the clacking of knitting needles and strode toward her boss' office, her leather shoes squeaking with each step. She knocked on the wooden door and politely waited to be summoned inside.

  
"Come in!"

  
Hermione let herself in and went to stand in front Mr. Hawke and his boring wooden desk. "You asked me to come see you, sir?" Several memos fluttered overhead and two owls sat cooing impatiently on the bookshelf.

  
"Yes, I have a job for you today, Ms. Granger. Bit unorthodox, but, you know we’re short on staff." Leaning forward in his seat, the pudgy, balding man gestured for Hermione to sit. He dabbed his handkerchief across his sweaty forehead. "I received an owl early this morning from a witch who urgently requested we send someone from our department to take care of a pest problem beneath her home. I'd like you to help take care of it."

  
Taken aback, Hermione stammered a little before responding. "I..uh, sir, why would you want me to take care of this? I mean, I'm flattered you thought of me at all for this job, but I haven't ever gone out on a pest control inquiry before. I don't know what proper protocol would be or what to do with the creature in question?"

  
"The owl message stated that she thinks she can hear incoherent voices coming from a hole under her house, and you're the expert in words no one can understand," Ridgewell stated as if this was the most obvious answer. He stared at her with a strained smile, and then huffed out a sigh. “Burge is out sick, Perkins is on holiday, Harold is already handling twice his work load, and you and I both know that Felicity is not up to such a physical task.”  
Hermione hesitated. “Sir, I…”

  
Half a dozen memos flew through the door and Ridgewell batted at them, distracted and flustered. "Besides! You won't be going alone Ms. Grange,” he pressed, eyeing the memos. “I'll send Hopkins with you to secure the creature or creatures once you've attempted to communicate with them."

  
Still unsure of this sudden development, Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Where is the witch's house located, sir? Should we just take the Floo Network?"  
"The witch's name is Fionnula Goggins. Her house is located on top of Old Friar Rise, and I'll give David the name for the fireplace.” Ridgewell exhaled with relief and stood to usher Hermione out. “You two can leave this afternoon and I'll tell him to meet you in front of the Floo Network. Thank you, Miss Granger." He waved her out the door and hurried to tend to the hooting owls.

  
Hermione bid him farewell and headed back to her desk. Pest control was uncharted territory for her and she was both nervous and excited to be embarking on something new. She'd never officially met David Hopkins before today, but she had heard from Felicity that the office considered him the golden boy of the pest control division. At least there would be one person on this job who had experience with the proper disposal of creatures.

  
The rest of the morning passed without much excitement. She spent the time finishing some reports from past meetings, and researching the guidelines from the Pest Control rule book. It was less of a book and more of a brochure that stated, "Don't touch!", as the fundamental rule for all the calls and complaints received. It left her feeling unprepared and agitated as she headed toward the fireplaces that made up the Floo Network. She did take some comfort in the fact that her loafers had finally stopped their incessant squeaking.

  
David was already waiting by the designated fireplace for her when she arrived. His uniform—a drab, tan jumpsuit with steel-toed boots—coupled with his dark skin and muscled build made him stand out amongst the crowd. There had been too many incidents where the pests being contained had taken a bite out of a witch or wizard, so the uniform had been altered to require such footwear.

  
His handsome face broke out in a good-natured grin when he spotted her coming towards him and her cheeks flushed without her even being properly aware of it. She was really not herself today.

  
"Miss Granger, I hear we are going on an adventure today," David greeted, still smirking.  
"Yes, although I have to be honest with you, Mr. Hopkins. I feel a little unprepared for this particular adventure. Please bear with me this afternoon." Admitting to own inexperience was a blow to Hermione's pride, but it was better to be humble than a liability in this circumstance.

  
"Miss Granger, I can assure you that I have complete faith in your ability to adapt to the situation,” he said. “I've only heard a few snippets of your past adventures but it sounds like you are more than capable of thinking on your feet."

  
David's warm expression and kind words helped to alleviate a portion of the tension in her shoulders. She entered the fireplace feeling a little more confident and capable. Maybe this job wouldn't be so horrific after all.

  
Her sight was overtaken by emerald fire, and gravity evaporated as the Floo Network sucked them away; the disorientation lasted for only a moment once they arrived unscathed in the fireplace of Mrs. Goggins’s home. As Hermione stepped across the brick threshold and onto the scratched up hardwood of the living room, the stench was the first thing that registered. The space reeked of burnt hair and Hermione noticed scorch marks on the otherwise white walls of the room.

  
Also strange was the lack of furniture—just a large number of empty bird cages scattered about. The entirety of it gave her the impression of negligence, but upon closer inspection Hermione noticed that despite the perplexing nature of the room, it was clean as a whistle. Not a speck of dust on anything she could see, which made the burn marks on the wall stand out that much more.

  
"I've been doing this job for a while and I can honestly say this is one of the oddest things I've come across on a work call," David said, stepping out of the fireplace.  
Hermione didn't have a chance to respond as a tall, regal looking woman glided into the room. Her auburn hair was pulled into a tight bun at the base of her head and frown lines took up most of the lower half of her narrow face. She appeared to be around sixty years of age, if Hermione was guessing correctly.

  
"Thank the heavens you've arrived! I sent that owl hours ago—I was about to go to the Minister of Magic himself if you had waited any longer to show up," Fionnula spouted in disapproval before they could even introduce themselves. "I'm about to go mad with all the racket those creatures are making down there!"

  
She beckoned them to follow her as headed out of the room and down the hallway to the back door. Along the way, Hermione noticed bird cages taking up most of the space in the rest of the home as well. The hallway was clear of anything curious (unless you considered excess cleanliness abnormal) but the kitchen didn't even have a table and chairs because of all the various sized cages taking up residence in the space.

  
"I'm very sorry for the delay, Mrs. Goggins,” David said. “I was held up at a different call this morning and couldn't get here until I'd taken care of some nasty Mandrakes that had been repotted too late." He and Hermione followed the older woman as she descended the steps leading out her back door.

  
"I don't want to hear the excuses you have prepared, I just want you to do your job and get rid of these things," Fionnula snapped. She pointed at a small opening between the exterior of her brick house and the ground.

  
David and Hermione came to a stop next to her and examined the hole, taking a moment to embrace the silence after the old woman's tirade. But in that silence, there was a distinct buzzing that made the ache behind Hermione’s eyes increase to a stabbing pain. Squinting against the unexpected torment, she tried to keep her breathing calm and even.

  
"What noise is it making, Mrs. Goggins? Is it constant or only occasionally?" David asked. He squatted to get a closer look.

  
Without taking her attention away from the hole, Hermione murmured, "You mean you don't hear that? That buzzing?"

  
David stood and looked at Hermione curiously, "No... Is that what you hear?"

  
"Enough chattering! Take care of this. Now!" Fionnula exclaimed, growing angrier by the second. Her face had gone ashen, sweat formed on her upper lip, and hair had escaped from her otherwise immaculate bun.

  
“Right away, Mrs. Goggins.” Sighing, David drew his wand and redirected his attention to the opening once more.

  
"Miss Granger, I’m going towiden the hole so we can get a closer look at the beastie inside. Are you ready?" he asked. “You might want to step back a bit.”

  
Barely aware of herself nodding in response, Hermione tried to focus on the situation at hand. The buzzing grew more persistent as they stood there and it began to morph into a harsh whistle blasting through her skull, so loud that she couldn’t hear anything else over the drone in her ears. Sweat poured down her back and her heartbeat was like a hummingbird as she watched David raise his wand and point it at the opening.

  
She couldn't decipher what spell he'd used over the din, but she watched his mouth form the words and dirt flew in every direction as a blast shattered the ground before them. Shielding her face with her arms, Hermione had the fleeting thought that the spell he used was not part of protocol for peaceful pest removal and suddenly she wasn't thinking anything at all as vociferous hissing erupted all around them.

  
Hundreds of snakes dispersed in every direction, twining through their ankles and escaping into the grass. Hermione got back to her feet and David yelped in surprise. A few moments seemed like eternity as Hermione stood frozen in horror while the serpents evacuated what must have been a hibernation den under Mrs. Goggins house. Finally, the last snake disappeared from sight and the yard fell silent—actually silent. No hissing and no buzzing in her ears. Her knees almost buckled beneath her in relief.

  
"What do you think you're doing, you bumbling idiot!" Fionnula shrieked at David, breaking the shocked quiet around them. Rubble littered the ground all around them and a large portion of the outside wall of the house was blown apart. "The Ministry will be hearing about what you've done to my home! Wretched fools!"

  
"Mrs. Goggins, my sincerest apologies on the state of your house,” David said quickly and calmly. “I assure you the Ministry will send someone to fix this right away."

  
He tucked his wand away in his front pocket and finally noticed Hermione's dazed expression and sweat-soaked shirt. Her hands shook and she stared at the empty hole with focusing. The pain in her head tormented her brutally and a thick pressure pushed behind her eyes.

  
“Hermione? Are you okay?”

Barely able to maintain a neutral expression, she looked up at David who watched her curiously.

  
“Sorry?” she said, fighting the thumping in her skull.

  
"Are you alright, Miss Granger? I apologize for the brute force of my actions—I did not anticipate the strength of my spell." He scratched his ear and frowned at the hole.

“Something went wrong…”

  
Swallowing, Hermione said, "I'm fine Mr. Hopkins. Thank you for your concern, but I think we should be more worried about getting back to the Department so we can report about the state of Mrs. Goggins house."

  
"Yes, you should! I expect someone here in the next hour to clean up the mess you two have made. " Fionnula pivoted on her heel and marched back into the partially destroyed building, ranting under her breath about incompetence.

  
Hermione took the lead and apparated to the Ministry first, David quickly following. They landed side by side in the main chambers and she wasted no time in rushing ahead to Level 4. The throbbing in her skull had extended to her jaw and even her teeth were painfully pounding with each hasty step she took.

  
"Ms. Granger... Hermione! Will you please slow down?" David asked, panting as he attempted to keep up with her pace. "I'm really sorry that wasn't the expedition you had been hoping for—it normally isn’t like that. I promise that nothing like that will be required of you again. You shouldn’t have had to be there."

  
Unexpected rage took root in her at that moment and she whirled to face David, even though she only came up to his shoulder.

  
"Required of me? Are you suggesting that I had anything to do with that debacle you caused back there?!" Spurred on by her current torture she ignored the shocked expression on his face and let her emotions reign in the moment. "My only ‘requirement’, as you so dutifully pointed out, was to translate any unknown dialogue between the said creature and you, so that we could extract them without blowing anything up!”

  
“Miss Granger—”

  
“But not only did you cause an explosion, but who knows how many of those poor, helpless snakes were crushed or injured by your rash spell casting.” Hermione glared and continued, “Now my only job is to report back to Mr. Hawke about the extensive damage done to Mrs. Goggins’s home, and probably her sanity. So yes, nothing like this better ever be required of me again!"

  
Without waiting for a response from her stunned co-worker, Hermione turned on her heel and marched to the elevator, ignoring the gawkers that had collected during her outburst. Once inside the tiny compartment she sighed heavily and leaned her back against the frigid metal of the wall. She shouldn’t have chewed David out so publically, but she hadn’t been able to stop herself.

  
Today was turning into one of the worst days of her adult life—not including the time she ran out of Sleekeasy's Hair Potion. Tears fell in hot trails down her freckled cheeks and a hiccupping sob broke through the composure she'd tried to construct around herself. The pain was proving to be too much and she feared the anticipated conversation with Mr. Hawke. What if he punished her because of how the call had gone this afternoon? She hadn’t exactly stopped David, had she? Or tried to understand what was going on before he cast his mistaken spell? What if Mrs. Goggins demanded she be fired?

  
On the coat tails of that dreaded thought, the elevator doors openedand she was suddenly standing face to face with Felicity. The plump woman had her arms full of confiscated Demiguise pelts. The silky, silvery hair was illegal to own and sell in the Wizarding World; their Department confiscated any and all that they discovered.

  
"Hermione! Darling, what ever is the matter?" Felicity inquired, seeing Hermione's disheveled appearance.

  
Taking a steadying breath, she endeavoured to look nonplussed and normal. "Oh, nothing! I just had an…interesting time out on my call this afternoon. Nothing to worry about. I'm just on my way to see Mr. Hawke to report on it."

  
She tried squeezing past her friend to escape but only made it halfway out of the elevator before the old woman elbowed her back inside. She pressed herself into the small space alongside Hermione and pressed the down button. As the elevator descended, Felicity gently placed the furs in the corner and then wrapped Hermione into a loving, motherly embrace.  
"You are not going anywhere looking the way you do, my dear," she murmured, running her soft hands over Hermione's back in a comforting fashion. "You’re in a right state. You will be going straight home and leaving the explanations to that Hopkins fellow. He's more than capable of explaining whatever happened to his superiors, especially since it looks like it can't have been good."

  
Unable to hold back the flood of tears already escaping her eyes, Hermione latched her arms as far as she could around Felicity's torso. Her warm-hearted friend's gentle perfume filled her nose with a faint rose scent and the knitted material of her cardigan rubbed against Hermione's cheek.

  
"I will explain to Mr. Hawke myself why you needed to go home. That man nearly wets his britches every time I come a knockin' anyways," Felicity joked as she broke their embrace to wipe the tears from Hermione's eyes with a gentle smile.

  
"Thank you, Felicity. You always know how to make me feel better," was all Hermione could say in response to this woman's immense kindness.

  
The elevator doors parted once more and Felicity gave Hermione a nudge towards the main chambers.

  
"You take care of yourself, pet," she said as the doors began to close and Hermione was alone once again.

  
She took a moment to regain some composure before embarking on the journey home. The events of the afternoon had left her rattled and depleted of all emotional resources, and the headache continued to torment her. Maybe if she could get home without any other draining encounters, there would be some hope in salvaging what little spirit she had left. All she had to do was disapparate out of the Ministry and make it up her apartment stairs. Then she could kick Ron out of her bed and snuggle into the covers of her dark room to try and sleep this pain away.

  
She apparated to her front door, thinking it was better to just eliminate the whole stairs bit in case she happened to add clumsiness to her symptoms today. She reached into her pocket for keys and went to unlock the door before she realized it was already open. Listening, she heard someone rummaging through her pantry, mumbling incoherently.  
Miss Bishop was here.

  
Groaning audibly, Hermione squeezed the bridge of her nose, but it did little to extinguish the pressure she was experiencing. She could be civil, she thought. But perhaps that was futile, as she remembered the furious eruption she'd dished out on David earlier. This day couldn't possibly get any worse.

  
Pushing the door open, she found Susan Bishop's rear end protruding from the doorway of her pantry. The nosy landlady was cursing under her breath angrily as she swept crud into a dustpan with the broom. Her black hair had streaks of grey layered throughout and she was taller than the average woman, but it was the large unibrow above her eyes that really drew the typical observer in.

  
"I see you let yourself in, Miss Bishop," Hermione stated, probably with more venom than she should have.

  
Barely glancing in her direction, Susan straightened and threw the dirt from the dustpan into the garbage bin. "Of course, I own the apartment. Why wouldn't I? You’re only renting and I’m protecting my investment. And besides, you obviously don't know how to clean this place to my standards, so someone has to do it."

  
Clenching her fists together to keep from reaching for her wand, Hermione grasped desperately at whatever patience she had left. "Is that the only reason you're here today, Susan? Because if it is, I would really appreciate it if you came back another day. I'm not feeling very well and would like some quiet time to unwind."

  
"Working too hard with all those animals you vouch for?” Susan sniffed with disapproval. “Sometimes I think that boyfriend of yours is a troll with all the dirt he leaves behind. Is that him snoring in the bedroom?"

  
Grinding her teeth, Hermione gestured to the front door. "Please leave, Miss Bishop. I've had a really long day."

  
Scoffing, Susan gawked at Hermione's bluntness. "I own this place, you little wench and I will leave whenever I see fit." She stalked menacingly toward Hermione, looming nearly a foot above her. "And if you don't like it, you can take your shitty disgusting cat and move out immediately."

  
Susan stood uncomfortably close to Hermione and the smell of coffee and unwashed teeth invaded her senses. She was so close that Hermione could see all the individual black hairs on her upper lip as she stared down at her.

  
"Actually, I don't think your stupid feline will be moving anytime soon anyways." Susan continued, a smug grin on her face, "I might've accidentally slammed his paw in the door when I first arrived, now it'll match his ugly, little face."

  
The implied loss of Crookshanks tipped Hermione over the edge of rationality. In an instant, the agony behind her eyes reached a breaking point and boiled over into something she'd never experienced. Wrath coursed through her, searing and consuming. Rage like squall destroying a boat swelled in her chest and she could only focus on the pain she wanted to cause her landlady.

  
The sensation erupted from her veins like a molten inferno and her vision was replaced with a blazing sheet of green. Her surroundings lost all depth and clarity, the ground fell beneath her. She couldn't tell up from down but she knew exactly where Susan Bishop stood. She only perceived a ferocious hissing sound that filled the room and then—

There was nothing. It was over.

  
The sheet of green evaporated to reveal her entryway once again and Hermione collapsed hard onto her knees. She gasped for air as she stared down at her trembling hands. What had just happened? The torment she'd experienced all day had subsided to a dull throbbing and she could finally think past the torture.

  
Had she done something? All she could remember was wanting to hurt Miss Bishop...  
Finally looking around, her eyes fell upon the limp body of her landlady on the floor in front of her. Scrambling frantically to her feet, Hermione lunged forward.

  
"Miss Bishop?! Susan, are you okay?!" she demanded futilely to the unmoving form.  
Miss Bishop's eyes were open but unseeing toward the ceiling. The look of terror frozen on her face said more than enough on what she'd experienced before falling to the floor. For a horrible moment, Hermione thought Susan was dead. But thankfully, there was shallow breath escaping Susan’s lips, though Hermione could barely feel a pulse.

  
What had she done?

  
"Hermione? What's going on?” Ron called from the bedroom. “You're making a lot of racket out here."

  
The door to her bedroom opened and closed as Ron emerged, his eyes still half closed with sleep, wearing only a pair of jeans. He yawned and then he saw Hermione crouched in front of the seemingly dead body of the landlady. His mouth remained open, shocked and disbelieving.

  
Panic welled within Hermione’s chest and tears fell down her face. She'd never felt so confused and hopeless as she did in this moment.

  
Why had she ever thought that this day couldn't get any worse?


	3. Researching the Unknown

** Chapter 2 **

_“It's no use hiding in the bushes when you know there are snakes about." - Anthony T. Hincks_

\----

  
"What's wrong with her?" Ron asked, pointing at Susan's body on the floor. "Is she dead?"

"No. she's not dead, you idiot!" Hermione yelled back in a panic. How was she going to explain what happened to Ron when she didn't even know what had transpired herself?

  
"Have you called anyone, I mean, who do we call for something like this? Is it urgent or is she just like, sleeping? Have you tried to wake her?" Ron babbled, trying to rationalize what he was seeing right after waking up from his drunk stupor. “Do you know what happened?”

"No, Ron, she's not just sleeping. Send your Patronus to St. Mungo's and request immediate pick up. Now!" Hermione instructed, trying to distract him from pursuing how Susan had ended up like this.  
  
The scene replayed in her mind while Ron sent out his dog Patronus: the rage she'd felt had been unlike anything she'd ever experienced. It was terrifying to recall the distinct need she'd felt to hurt, to kill—she'd wanted to kill Miss Bishop. How had this happened? She hadn't been holding her wand, and even when she was young and inexperienced with magic, she'd never inadvertently conjured anything like this, never lost control. She was _supposed_ to be in control...

"Hermione? Are you okay?" Ron asked. He knelt down next to her and placed his hand on her back as if uncertain as to what else to do. "What happened?"

  
The question pressed against her, like a thousand pounds on her chest, like the elephant in the room had decided to squat on her. But before she could think of a way to explain, she was saved by a hard knock on the door. A team of St. Mungo's personnel rushed into the room, immediately going to work. Ron helped Hermione to her feet, watching her with concern, as a witch shoved past them to get a better look at Miss Bishop. She crouched down and examined Susan's eyes, using her wand as a torch.  
  
"What happened here?" The wizard in charge approached Hermione and Ron, eyeing the ashen hue of Hermione's skin and the way she kept glancing back at Susan.   
“I don’t know, I just got up, but um…” Ron looked at Hermione expectantly, clearly waiting to hear how she responded to the inquiry.  
  
She was frozen. The world had stopped moving, as if it was also holding its breath in anxious anticipation of what she would say or do next. Her need for honesty was overwhelmed by the confusion of everything that had befallen her in the last few hours. If she was going to have any chance at uncover what was going on with her, she needed to be able to unpack her own memories and pinpoint any telling clues. She needed to research, to think and read—going to jail for attempted murder would not be the place to find answers, and if Hermione told the truth, that’s most certainly what would happen.

So, she lied.  
  
"I…came home from work,” she began, and her voice was shockingly steady. “I found her on the floor like this. She's my landlady and occasionally she visits to see how the place is doing. I don’t know what happened. We called you immediately."

  
Nodding his head, the St. Mungo's Doctor recorded her statement using a bewitched quill and parchment. "And you?” he said, gesturing to Ron. “Did you see what happened?"

  
Shifting uncomfortably, Ron cleared his throat before answering. "I was, uh, sleeping in the next room. Was kind of sleeping all day, actually. Didn't even hear Miss Bishop come in..."

  
Nodding again, the doctor turned back to his team as they were exiting the apartment, Miss Bishop levitating securely along with them.

  
"I'm sorry for little interrogation, but the more we knew about what happened the better we can treat her when we get back to the hospital. You understand, I'm sure."

  
"Of course," Hermione responded, barely containing the guilt that cut away at her insides.  
With those final words, the mediwitches and wizards left, taking with them the only evidence of Hermione's earlier mental fragmentation. The silence in the apartment was oppressive, only broken by the ticking clock that hung on the wall behind her and Ron.  
  
“Are you okay?” Ron murmured, gently rubbing his hand on her back.  
  
"...I don't know," Hermione whispered, still staring at the front door.

  
Sighing heavily, he put his arms around her. "I’m sorry that was the first thing you saw when you got home—bloody awful, poor woman. We should get an alarm or something so she can’t come in here and have a heart attack in our kitchen."

  
Hermione stood stiff in his embrace, not exactly sure how to him an alarm system would've helped anything, but unwilling to respond to his attempt to soothe her. Ron had never been very talented at comforting people, usually using humour or poorly timed excuses to alleviate the tension. Usually she found it sort of endearing, but it wasn't what she needed right now. Right now,she needed answers.

  
"If you don't mind, I'd like to be alone now. It was a terrible day before that even happened and I…I just want to drink some tea and sleep," she lied and broke out of the hug.

  
Ron was slightly hurt by the blunt dismissal in her tone, but accepted her need to be by herself. “Sure,” he nodded. He disappeared into the bedroom to retrieve his t-shirt and jacket. Hermione busied herself with the kettle, following through with her fib, and besides, tea was always a good idea. The activity hid the way her hands shook.

  
Ron emerged, joined her by the stove, and clasped her hands in his.

  
"Please let me know if you need anything, okay?" he urged, squeezing her fingers.

  
His earnest concern made her tangled insides relax slightly and she was grateful for his kindness. She smiled reassuringly at him and nodded her head. "I promise, Ron."

  
Satisfied, he leaned down and kissed her lightly before heading to the door, casting another concerned look over his shoulder. After the door shut behind him, Hermione released the breath that she didn't even know she had been holding. Running her hands up and down her arms, she regarded her apartment, as if she was a stranger in her own home. Nothing felt the same as it had that morning before she'd left for work.  
  
_Will it ever feel the same again?_ she wondered.

  
A sudden meowing broke through her introspection and Crookshanks materialized from under the couch. He sauntered over to Hermione and sat nonchalantly at her feet, regarding her with his bright, clever eyes. Seeing him unharmed caused the floodgates to burst, and tears filled her eyes as she bent to scoop him into her arms. She sobbed into his fur as the strain of the day flowed out of her, and after her hiccupping petered out, she was like a rag that had been violently wrung out.  
  
Crookshanks had begun to purr sometime during her breakdown and he kneaded her gently with loving paws. Hermione sucked in deep breaths to calm herself and trudged over to the couch with him still clutched tightly to her chest.

  
Where should she go from here? What kind of questions do you ask if you almost kill someone without meaning too? She needed answers, but she didn’t know how to start looking for them.

  
Hermione crossed her legs underneath her and placed Crookshanks on the couch. She rubbed her temples, desperately trying to sort through her day to identify all the abnormal occurrences, find some reason for her loss of magical control. Waking up feeling so horrible hadn't seemed that strange at the time, but upon closer inspection, she wondered if it was the foundation on which everything had happened.  
  
Mr. Hawke sending her on that unusual call with David Hopkins was explained by the reason he'd given her before they left. The things that had happened on the job, however, were not: Mrs. Goggins’s strange decor, the fact that only she and Mrs. Goggins could hear that horrid noise. Then the David’s magical mishap and botched handling of the situation.   
Why would the poster boy for pest control forget proper spell casting on a simple job? Had something truly gone wrong with his wand? How?  
  
Those poor snakes... They had been unusually large for the species she knew to be native to the UK, but they'd scattered so fast that she hadn't been able to get a close look. Not only that, but the piercing pain in her head when it all unfolded had been a concerning distraction as well. Could her headache and throbbing eyes be connected her strange rage, and to Miss Bishop collapsing?

  
Maybe a small rest would help unclog the muck in her brain. Hermione let her head fall back onto the couch and she groaned loudly. She wasn't getting anywhere with all these loose ends floating around her head.  
  
A sudden wave of exhaustion washed over her and she settled into the soft plush of the cushions. The pulsating pain from earlier began to resonate through her skull again, dull and persistent. Before she could even think to go to her room and change out of her work clothes, sleep pulled her down into its loving embrace. The last thing she thought before slipping unconscious was that she forgot to drink her tea.

 Hermione awoke to Crookshanks bopping her firmly on the forehead with his fuzzy paw and an agitated meow. Swatting him away, she rolled over and buried her face into the couch once again, not ready to be roused from her slumber. Not one to be deterred, Crookshanks leapt onto her head and began kneading his claws into her unkempt hair.  
"All right, all right, I'm up!" She surrendered, shoving the feline to the ground and rising to a seated position.  
  
The world tilted before she could make it fully upright and she collapsed back down, nearly retching as a bout of nausea crashed through her. She wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, trying to breathe through the sick feeling. She really was ill, she decided, when she could finally sit up without the room spinning. Crookshanks mercilessly continued to meow impatiently.

  
"Hold on, you mangy cat, I need a minute!"

  
Finally, after a few long moments, she got to her feet and fetched his breakfast so she could hear her own thoughts above his yowling. She would have to call in sick to work today. Normally, she would push past her own discomfort to join the labour force, but her fever and nausea had other plans; tea and more sleep were high on her agenda for today, and hopefully the bug she’d contracted would be gone by tomorrow. She reached for her kettle.  
  
It also would give her time to ponder what had occurred the day before. The answers still eluded her and she wouldn’t let an unanswered question grow cold. She would start at the library, maybe by identifying the breed of snake she'd encountered at Mrs. Goggins house.  
  
It was a few minutes before she noticed the great horned owl tapping at her kitchen window. Startled, she dropped the empty kettle and Crookshanks jumped several feet in the air before he dove under the couch for cover, hissing at the clatter. Trying to think of a way to restart her heart, she opened the window to allow the bird entrance. Hermione recognized it as one of the public owls the Ministry allowed ordinary witches and wizards to use if they lacked an owl of their own. If she recalled correctly, his name was Julius. The majestic bird sauntered in through the window and held out the parchment attached to his leg.

  
"Thank you, Julius," she said as she untied the note. He nipped affectionately at her fingers before settling himself down on his haunches, clearly waiting for her to write a reply. She ran her fingers through his beautiful plumage while she read the hastily scrawled handwriting.

 _Ms. Granger,_  
I'd love to meet with you this afternoon to discuss yesterday's work call and to see if you’re all right. Please send back a time and place that work best for you and I'll meet you there.   
  
Hoping you're doing well,  
David Hopkins.

_PS: Julius loves cereal._

Hermione considered writing back that she couldn't make it because of her sudden case of the flu, but than thought better of it. Guilt for how she'd treated David yesterday welled inside her. She certainly owed him an apology for her indecorous behaviour. She’d been so angry with him— another strange bout of rage so unlike herself. What was happening to her?

Julius hooted loudly and flew over to the pantry, landing on the top shelf where she kept her favourite boxes of cereal, hinting not-so-subtly that he wanted a treat for a job well done. Hermione retrieved a handful of Rice Krispies and placed them on the counter so the bird could gorge himself while she drafted a reply.  
  
The cafe down the street from her apartment would be a good meeting place since she didn't think she was capable of any distant travelling today. When she was done, Hermione folded up the note and tied it to Julius' leg. He launched into the air without further ado and she watched him until he disappeared behind a building.

  
A sudden chill settled over her, making her shiver, and Hermione headed to her bedroom. She wouldn't be any good to herself, to David, or to this mystery if she didn't try and rest before she met with him. Hopefully a nap would help her recharge and she could be a productive, healthy member of society. Hermione's head barely hit the pillow before she was asleep.

  
A few hours later she awoke slowly to the soft pattering of rain on her window; the overcast weather was sticking around for awhile. Her whole body was achy and hot, though the pressure in her head had receded slightly. Pushing the covers off herself, she rose tentatively and headed for the shower. The warm water was almost painful against her overly sensitive skin and she washed as quickly as possible, emerging from the shower feeling no better than she had originally. Maybe she wouldn’t be up for meeting David after all.  
  
Hermione dressed in a well-worn pair of jeans and a soft, roomy cashmere sweater that she reserved for the days when her period left her wallowing in a sea of estrogen-induced cramps and cravings. Today's unpleasantness and nausea qualified under the same category. She french-braided her damp hair to tame the curls, and pulled on a pair of fuzzy socks—she figured shemight as well be as comfortable as possible.

  
The clock told her it was lunch time, so she attempted to eat some buttered toast since she hadn't eaten anything since lunch yesterday. But the grainy texture was like sand in her mouth, making her stomach roil uneasily, and she gave up after a few bites.  
  
Hermione considered her options for the rest of the day, eventually deciding that she would try some light reading before heading out to meet Mr. Hopkins. Then, if she felt up to it, she'd go to the library to learn about the snakes they'd encountered. That supposedly insignificant piece of info nagged at her and she felt sure like it would lead her in the right direction.

  
Selecting an old potions textbook, Hermione got comfortable on the couch and sank into the world of Eye of Newt concoctions. She looked for a tincture that would get rid of this nasty nausea, but she couldn't recall anything off the top of her head; it was rare for witches and wizards to even develop colds or the flu. Since wizarding illnesses were fairly detrimental in comparison to their Muggle counterparts, it meant that the immune system of magical people were generally strong enough that a runny nose or fever was pretty much unheard of. Hopefully, her old school notes would reveal something helpful. Otherwise, she decided she might resort to the old Muggle remedies her parents had used before she began at Hogwarts. Some of those, however, had tasted worse than any wizarding potion she'd consumed, so they’d be a last resort.

  
The hours passed quickly that afternoon until it was time to meet David. She left the apartment with no leads on any possible relief; her fever remained and her bones felt sore and heavy under her skin. She probably shouldn't have been leaving her apartment, but the walls still felt foreign and hostile after yesterday's events and she needed to get out.  
  
It only took five minutes for her to walk to the coffee shop, despite the torrential downpour. David was already waiting for her at a table inside and he smiled and waved when she came in the door. The welcoming aroma of coffee and fresh baked pastries greeted her and she breathed deeply, relishing in the homey feel of the intimate space. The booths were padded with worn velvet cushions and each table had clawed feet; the crimson red walls made her feel warm just by walking in. It was one of her favourite places in London and she came here often. She could rarely convince Ron to come with her, however. He said it was stuffy and fancy, and that if he wanted coffee he'd just make it at home instead. She was fine with that, however, as she enjoyed being here alone just as much as with company.

  
David already had two coffees on the table for them. Hermione preferred tea, but didn’t want to seem ungrateful. Besides, if she added enough sweetener, she could stomach the bitter taste. She seated herself and wrapped her numb fingers around the warmth of the mug.

  
"Thank you for meeting me, Miss Granger. I got worried when you didn't show up at work today, but Felicity said you’d called in sick" David winced, glancing at her soggy clothes, pale face, and shaking limbs. "Maybe we should've taken a rain check on this meeting as well. Are you sure your okay to be here? Forgive me for saying so, but you look awful. I shouldn’t have dragged you out of bed for this."

  
Snorting in an unladylike fashion, Hermione smirked at his bluntness. She felt awful, too, so it was only fitting that she would look the part.

  
"I'm fine, Mr. Hopkins,” she replied, trying not to sound as ill as she felt. “I’m glad to see you—I would like to apologize for my rude behaviour yesterday when we got back to the Ministry. It was completely uncalled for, and I hope you can forgive my outburst."

  
David shook his head and held up his hand in a halting motion. "No, Hermione, it should be me who apologizes to you." He looked at her earnestly, genuine sincerity coating his every word. "I handled that call poorly, and it was my fault that the spell went wrong. I explained the entire ordeal to Mr. Hawke and he knows you are not to blame for any of the damage that happened to Mrs. Goggins’s home.”  
  
He ducked his head guiltily and continued, “Felicity met with me before I went to speak to him, and she told me how much the afternoon’s disaster affected you, and I’m so sorry. I was able to ensure a week of paid leave for you to recover. It's the least I can do to make for what happened."

  
Hermione was speechless. She had half-expected this meeting to be about possible punishment from her boss because of the explosion. She hadn't expected to be gifted a guilt-free absence from her job! Maybe she actually would have time to investigate what was going on with her and resolve it before it got worse.

  
"Wow...I—Thank you, Mr. Hopkins," she responded, struggling to collect herself.  
“Please, call me David," he requested, placing a friendly hand on her forearm. His palm was surprisingly cold, but Hermione wasn't sure if that was because of her fever or not.

  
"Thank you, David," she smiled back.

  
They spent the next few minutes discussing the strangeness of Mrs. Goggins’s home and the possible reasons for the excess of bird cages. David suggested that she was insane and that she believed each one actually had a bird in it. Hermione hypothesized perhaps her husband worked as a metal crafter and they were part of his inventory. They theorized that she thought they were décor items, but they threw that idea out—Mrs. Goggins’s seemed far too prim and proper for that option.  
  
When their mugs were empty, there was a lull in conversation until David asked her a surprising question.

  
"What did you think about the snakes yesterday?"

  
Taken off guard, Hermione stared at him for a moment before responding.

  
" Everything happened so fast I didn't get a good look at any of them. I was worried some might be hurt. Why do you ask?"

  
David shrugged his shoulders. "I know a lot of people who are afraid of snakes. I wondered if maybe you were so affected by yesterday's events because you were as well—you know, a phobia or something. I'm afraid of heights and this one time, I had to get rid of a pixie nest tucked against the side of a cliff. The whole call took triple the amount of time it should've because I was so busy sweating buckets and crying like a baby."

  
Hermione laughed at the mental picture and shook her head.

  
"No, I've never really been afraid of snakes,” she said. “I think all animals are fascinating in their own way and every creature needs to be treated with respect, in both the Muggle and wizarding world."

  
David pondered her words for a moment and then inquired, "You said you could hear something when he first saw the den, right?"

  
She remembered the horrible pressure in her skull and the droning whistle.

  
"Yeah...I heard a shrill noise. But it was more…in my brain than my ears, I think... It was probably just a symptom of this flu I've caught." She rubbed her palm across her forehead, hot to the touch.

  
David stared at her with a strange expression, his eyes fixed on her a little longer than Hermione felt comfortable with. She shifted anxiously in the booth, wondering if she suddenly looked even worse than when she’d arrived. He broke his gaze after another moment and shook himself, clearing his throat. He stood and Hermione pushed her chair back.

  
"Well, I hope you get well sooner rather than later," he said, helping her to her feet. "I'd hate to have to deal with that Felicity woman again if you don't show up back to work in a week. She's kind of frightening, honestly. Bit intense,” he added with a wince.

  
She laughed half-heartedly. They walked to the exit and David politely held the door for her. After it closed behind them, Hermione took a breath to bid him a hasty farewell, but he beat her to the punch.

  
"You know, in some cultures snakes represent new life or transformation because of the way they shed their skin?" He stared across the street as he spoke, his eyes vacant. "Maybe the fact that we saw snakes yesterday means something unexpected is going to happen in the near future. If you believe in that sort of thing. —maybe we'll all have another adventure soon."

  
The hair on her arms prickled. The rain spattered the dark asphalt around them and as Hermione glanced up at him, the threatening utterance of thunder sounded in the distance. Swallowing to ease her parched throat and the wave of unease coursing through her, she took a hesitant step away from him.

  
"Have a good rest of your week, Hermione,” David said cheerily, as if he hadn't just spouted an unsettling premonition. “It was good to see you. Bye!" He sauntered off in the opposite direction, hands in his pockets.

  
Maybe it was all in her head, but this afternoon had gone from kind of unusual to uncomfortable in a very short time. Her need for answers was magnified by David's abrupt strangeness . The library seemed very inviting in this moment and she jogged across the street toward the University of Roehampton. Her cousin was the librarian there and let her scan the endless columns of tomes whenever she wanted even though she wasn't a student. Some of the other librarians checked out books for her under their own names now, too, since Hermione’s reputation with books apparently preceded her.

  
Her brief spike of energy dwindled and the short trek to the campus quickly seemed insurmountable. Her body protested with each step, but she refused to go home without at least one piece of the puzzle solved this evening. Stubbornness and caffeine were the only things pushing her forward as she mounted the steps leading up to the entrance of the library. Leaning against the building, Hermione rested for a moment, trying to calm her frantic heart. Usually the traffic in and out of the building was busy with stressed students cramming for exams and researching essays, but in the middle of a Friday afternoon, the place was quieter than normal.

  
Finished with her reprieve, Hermione pushed open the heavy doors and stepped into the familiar space. Volumes of everything from how to cook a duck to the history Islam spanned every surface of the Victorian designed chamber. It was her favourite library aside from the one at Hogwarts and it was a balm to her overloaded senses. The warm air soaked into her body and the soft silence eased her aching bones. The lighting was dimmed to match the time of day, reminding her of the embers of a fading blaze. She almost cried from relief.  
Hermione nodded at the middle-aged woman manning the librarian’s desk and then she ventured into the maze of books. She didn't have much a plan aside from looking up facts about snakes, so she started searching through the encyclopedias located along the back of the room. Gathering as many books as she could safely carry in her arms, Hermione found a secluded table near the hearth in the back wall and started studying. To her further relief, she encountered no one else in her exploration and research.

  
The number of known snake species was much more extensive than she had anticipated, and before she was aware of it, a few hours had gone by. Still unsuccessful in identifying the snakes from yesterday, she lowered her head onto her folded arms and closed her tired eyes.  
  
_Why am I even doing this?_ she wondered.  
  
What good would it do for her to know what breed of serpent the creatures were? Why had she thought that would help understand her strange rage and loss of control? It wouldn't change anything, it didn’t relate, and she'd still be left with the mystery of her apparent ability to almost kill people when she got pissed off!  
  
Sighing loudly, Hermione looked to the dying fire. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the cover of one of the books she hadn't opened yet. Sitting up, she studied the illustration closer and a blaze of excitement lit up in her chest. It was the picture of the exact snake from the den David had blasted to smithereens!  
  
She gripped the book tightly in both hands and stared intently at it, searching for the name of the serpent. There wasn't a title or author name scribed anywhere on the front or back cover and she couldn't even remember what section of the library she'd gotten the book from. Exhaling sharply in frustration, Hermione dropped the book unceremoniously onto the table with a loud thud and leaned back in her chair.

  
"That's an Adder on the cover. It's written by Ansel Anguis."

The unknown voice broke through the silence so unexpectedly that she jumped in her seat and shrieked. Whipping around, her eyes fell on the last person she thought she'd ever see again.

  
Draco Malfoy leaned against the nearest bookcase, regarding her with a neutral expression. His blond hair was trimmed shorter than the last time she'd seen him, but there was no mistaking his familiar, sharp features and emerald green eyes.

  
She stared, frozen by the many emotions trying to break through to the forefront. He stared back at her, equally as silent.

  
David's parting words about the unexpected popped into her head instead,and she wanted to curse out loud. If this was her life's version of an adventure or transformation, she wanted to stop the transition and return to the old model.

Right now.


	4. Good Vibrations

**Chapter 3**

_“But I know your blood doesn't define you. What defines you is the choices you make. If I've learned anything this year, it's that.”_

_\- Cassandra Clare 'Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy_ '

\-----

"What are you doing here?" Hermione demanded. shock leeched the heat from her limbs.

The last time she had seen Malfoy had been after the Battle at Hogwarts, when he and his parents had slunk away in defeat. She had only heard whisperings of them since; her and her friends hadn't cared enough about the dejected Death Eaters to bother researching their whereabouts.

His green eyes gave no indication of his thoughts as he stared at her. He seemed as guarded as she was, like two panthers judging each other from the shadows, not quite sure who would pounce first. Heavy silence invaded the air around them; neither one wanted to be the first to look away. Finally, Malfoy sighed heavily, broke eye contact, and said the most absurd thing she'd heard in a long time.

"I'm a student here."

Hermione laughed out loud. It was a hysterical sound, more suited to those suffering from insanity, but she figured she must not be far from it because her ears were obviously playing tricks on her. He simply couldn’t be a student here—somewhere so normal, so Muggle.

Draco endured her garish outburst in silence and she realized that she must have actually heard him correctly. The staring recommenced.

"You're joking, right?" she ventured, still certain this was a hallucination her exhausted, possibly feverish subconscious had conjured as a cruel way of telling her she needed rest.

The former Slytherin reached up and rubbed the back of his neck and his lax stance against the bookcase turned into anxious shuffling. Was he…tense? Did Draco Malfoy actually have enough humanity to be nervous in her presence?

"Look, Granger, I just noticed you looking at that book, okay?” he said. “Let's just pretend we never saw each other and move on with our separate lives again." It was strange to see him affected enough by her reaction that he looked like he wanted to flee back to whatever snake hole he'd crawled out of. He turned to go down the aisle, and a sudden, unexplainable pulse of distress shot through Hermione’s chest.

_No!_

"Wait!" she yelled without meaning to.

  
Her body radiated with the completely irrational need for him to stay while her head screamed to let him keep walking. What was wrong with her? Never, not once in the past two years had she even spared a second thought to Malfoy or his whereabouts. Now, here she was, yelling at him in the University library.

  
Where was this coming from? Technically, he was the first lead she had on the snakes. But was that worth putting her pride and former hatred of him aside?

He halted and looked at her in disbelief, just as surprised as she was by her sudden exclamation.

"I... Uh... Who did you say this was written by again?" Hermione felt a flush creep up her—what a humiliating position. She never thought she'd see Malfoy again, let alone be asking for his assistance.

Draco put his hands in his pockets. She realized that he was actually wearing a plain grey t-shirt and simple, dark wash jeans. He looked.... Muggle-ish. She'd never seen him in anything but tailored dress robes or the Hogwarts school uniform. It was a very foreign look on him, though she begrudgingly admitted that it suited him. The bastard.

"It's written by Ansel Anguis,” he replied. “It's about all the venomous species that are located around the world."

Hermione glanced down at the book on the table. The snake on the cover had its fangs bared in aggression, its body coiled to strike.

"You said this is an adder snake?" she asked, flipping open the book and turning the first few pages to avoid further eye contact with Malfoy. The author's name was written in elegant script on the bottom of the second paper. If she had thought to open the damn book she could have avoided this entire ordeal. What was wrong with her?

"Yeah, you can tell by the zigzag pattern running along its spine and the inverted 'V' shape on its neck,” he said, sauntering near again. “That one is male too, if that information matters to you."

"How do you know that?" she found herself asking, unwillingly impressed by his knowledge of snakes.

"If I tell you, are you going to laugh like a fucking hyena again, or can we be adults here?" His tone was sharp, as though he were actually hurt by her wild laughter.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione nodded.

"I major in zoology with a focus on snakes. I've probably taken that book out of the library a dozen times. Happy now?"

She narrowed her eyes. "You really do go to a Muggle university?"

"Yes, Granger,” he retorted. “Is that so hard to believe?"

The Draco she used to know was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and prejudiced to his core. He was snide, a bully, and worse.

She remembered his face as she had lay sprawled on the floor of Malfoy Manor, the pain that lanced through her body as Bellatrix—his aunt—tortured her. Hermione had screamed until her throat was raw, praying that there was a trace of decency in him to intervene. They'd gone to school together, learned together, and yet he'd stood there and watched like a coward. He had let Bellatrix bloody her with that filthy word and he had done nothing.

  
Hatred surged through her like a heatwave during a drought and a sheet of green fell over her vision—just like it had with Susan Bishop. She wished he could experience the torment Hermione endured that day in Malfoy Manor. She yearned for him to scream, to feel what she had felt. Familiar hissing vibrated through her skull, causing the world to bleach of colour. Her senses overwhelmed her body and everything went black.

The next thing she registered was the coarse fibres of the library carpet beneath her cheek and palms. Draco's face came into her field of vision. He was close enough to touch and his features displayed a concerned expression she'd never witnessed before.

"Hermione?" he said, totally fine and not in a coma, "Are you okay?"

Hermione blinked up at him. Why was he not unconscious like Miss Bishop had been during her last episode of rage?

"Why aren't you dead?" she blurted.

Draco raised an eyebrow and looked at her inquisitively before saying, "I usually only reserve death for special occasions. Do you have a problem with that, Granger?"

Hermione laughed. Not the frenzied eruption from earlier, but a genuine, good-humoured chuckle. Malfoy had made her laugh. His light-hearted response to her absurd question pushed her negative emotions aside for a moment, leaving her feeling surprisingly airy. Maybe she really was going insane.

He gripped under her arms and he pulled her to her feet without prompting. She was taken aback by the effortlessness at which he'd lifted her; she was embarrassed he had to at all. She brushed herself off and he stayed close.  
“I’m fine,” she assured him.

"You want to tell me what that was about?" He gave her some space now that she could stand on her own.

"Nope," Hermione responded. She wasn’t ready to share the details of her current condition with anyone. Least of all Draco.

He accepted her dismissal with grace and simply nodded. Maybe he was smarter than she remembered.

  
They stood awkwardly, unsure how to proceed, until Hermione glanced at the clock on the far wall and saw how late it was. Her research had taken her into the wee hours of the evening and the library was about to close. Exhaustion pulled at her body like the vines of Devil's Snare and she knew she couldn't fight it much longer. She debated the best way to bid Malfoy farewell without being a complete arsehole. He’d helped her, but he was still Malfoy.

"Well... The library's about to close and I must get home." She gathered her encyclopedias and miscellaneous volumes into a pile and picked them up. Hermione had travelled two steps toward the return cart before a pair of strong arms encircled the heavy books and lifted them from her embrace.

"Before you keel over again, Granger, let me carry these monstrosities." Malfoy beat her to the cart before she could even comprehend what he was doing. Had Draco Malfoy just done something nice for her? Voluntarily?

"Er... Thank you," she said.

He nodded without making eye contact and they walked toward the exit. It was silent except for the scuffle of their shoes on the carpet and Hermione let her guard down slightly. Maybe it was the fact that the library was familiar, calming territory or maybe it was because Draco hadn't given her a reason to build her defences any higher so far. Either way, the trek to the front doors was oddly comfortable.

Outside, the black night sky was clouded over and mist hung ominously in the darkened streets. The only illumination came from the lamps strewn about the city landscape, and even then it was eerie to look out into the shrouded night. Hermione shivered as the doors to the library closed behind them and she wished she had brought a warmer jacket.

Draco looked out into the street and back at her, as if he was debating whether or not to say something. Hermione was cold enough that she wasn't about to stick around while he made up his mind.

"Well, maybe I'll see you around or something," She descended the stairs into the street.

"Granger, wait."

Now it was Hermione's turn around in astonishment. Draco scampered down the steps to stand next to her.

"Look, can I walk you home, or wherever you're going?" he asked, his hand rubbing the back of his neck again. " I know we're supposed to hate each other and everything but… Let’s just say that two years is a long time, and I have had several humbling experiences, so can I just do the right thing and not let you go home by yourself in the dark?"

Hermione was speechless. He was right:, two years was a long time. She hardly recognized the man standing in front of her anymore. It was Malfoy, but it, somehow, also wasn’t.

Rolling his eyes, Draco gave up on waiting for her to respond and began to walk down the street. "Are you coming? Or are you Gryffindors not quite as adventurous as you used to be?" He glanced over his shoulder and paused when she failed to follow him. “Well?”

“Fine,” Hermione huffed and fell into step next to him.

  
The first half of the journey to her apartment was spent in awkward silence. The rain had ceased for the time being and the sounds of London filled their ears . She let her mind wander. How had Malfoy been spared from her angry new sorcery while Miss Bishop lay in a hospital bed, possibly still in a coma? Hermione had no clue where to go in search of answers.  
The whole experience was maddening, to say the least. A terrible sort of loneliness began to seep through her veins like thick mire and she didn’t know how to deal with it, who to turn to for help.The thought of inviting Ron into this hell didn't seem fair when she didn’t know what to do herself—he'd fret over her being ill and wouldn’t know what to do, either.  
Worse, though she hated to admit it, he would probably just get in the way when she did have some inkling of what to do.

Her love for Ron had started to dwindle when she realized he never challenged her. Their relationship was very surface level and they lacked a special kind of passion that she'd secretly yearned for; he never made her knees weak, or her heart speed up. She'd remained with him because she was comfortable there, and while she had been pursuing her career, it had been nice to not have any other distractions. But as she plunged into the depths of the unknown, she found it disheartening to be braving the water alone. If she was really honest, she was frightened.

"So, are you a student at Roehampton too?" Draco said, pulling her from her thoughts.

Hermione snuck a peek at Draco in her periphery. His eyes were directed forward and he had his hands stuffed in his pockets. She'd never seen him look so casual before.

"No,” Hermione answered. “My cousin is the librarian, so he lets me come in and take books home sometimes. I've been doing it since I moved here."

He nodded and they both fell silent again. She couldn’t think of anything else to say, and neither could he, apparently. Eventually, approached Hermione's apartment building. Stopping in front of the main doors, she faced Draco and rubbed her arms in an attempt to summon warmth back into her limbs. She was freezing, but she didn't rush into the welcoming heat of her home just yet. The thought of going into the building where she'd felled Susan Bishop made her want to throw up and she needed a moment to prepare herself. She'd be alone as soon as her front door closed behind her. Even Draco Malfoy was better company than the demon that seemed to slumber within her lately.

"Aren't you going in?" Draco asked, gesturing to the doors.

"Give me a minute!" she snapped, anxiety budding as fast as the weeds in her mother's flower garden. Don’t think about Susan, she told herself fruitlessly.

"Damn Granger, calm down. It's cold out here—I figured you'd want to go in right away.” He shook his head. “I'll just leave you to your brooding then."

Draco turned to leave. There was a painful tug in Hermione’s chest at the sight of his retreating back and she involuntarily gripped his forearm to stop him. She immediately dropped her hand when she registered what she'd done.

"Yes, Hermione?" Draco said, facing her.

That was the second time he'd called her by her first name. The first had been when he'd been concerned over her dramatic spread eagle on the library floor. He had been worried about her—he was worried about her. Who was this man and where was the bully she remembered so vividly from her school days?

"What happened to you, Draco?" she wondered out loud, studying him for the first time since she spotted him leaning against the bookshelf.

The rain started to fall again and droplets clung to his hair like dew. The corners of his mouth weren't turned down in the sneer he used to sport so frequentlyand his eyes were softer around the corners. He wasn’t sickly looking, like the last time she'd seen him—his skin glowed with a healthy hue. He had always been tall, but he must have grown more in the past two years because his frame seemed sturdier, more athletic.

He was…handsome, she realized with a strange jolt in her gut.

Draco's expression faded from curious to forlorn.

"Let's just say the Wizarding World isn't a very friendly place for the Malfoys anymore and I had to widen my horizons." He offered her a sad smile and turned to walk off.

"I don't suppose you want to go somewhere and talk, do you?" Hermione yelled after him on impulse. Anything to avoid going into her apartment for just a little longer.

He paused and glanced over his shoulder. A vibrating pulse went through her body. It started in her chest and travelled through her arms and legs, like a flame slowly burning down a matchstick. Pleasant warmth tingled through her veins.

"Sure...” Draco replied. “Why the hell not." 

"There's a coffee shop down the block that's open all night," she suggested.

He gestured for Hermione to lead the way, so she started toward the cafe she'd been to that afternoon with David Hopkins. The lights were dimmed when they walked through the front door. The café was empty except for a barista behind the counter who looked relieved to have someone to help pass the night. Hermione chose the same booth her and David had sat in and she gratefully sank onto the soft velvet cushion, her sore muscles finally able to relax.

Draco went up to the counter to talk to the young barista.

Hermione watched the interaction with fascination. His smile was kind and charming, and the woman was clearly a little flustered by him, nodding too enthusiastically and blushing to her ears. Hermione even heard him say “thank you” before he came over and sat down across from her.

"You've been doing an awful lot of staring tonight, Granger," he observed with a sly grin.

"You just... I mean..." Hermione sputtered. "I just don't really know what to think of you."

He snorted and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the tabletop just as the barista sauntered over with two mugs. She placed them on the table and sent a flirty smile in Draco's direction before heading behind the counter again. Hermione was a surprised that he'd ordered them both chamomile tea. Reaching for one of the mugs, he ignored the sceptical expression she directed at him.

"I like tea, get over it." He took a sip of the scalding liquid.

She suppressed a smile and wrapped her fingers around her own drink. They said nothing for the next few minutes as feeling returned to their fingers and feet.

  
So many questions swirled around her head and she wondered what to ask first. How did Malfoy go from a cruel, sadistic Death Eater to attending Muggle university and thanking Muggles with a smile on his face?

"How long have you been going to Roehampton?" she asked instead..

"About a year," he replied, running his finger absentmindedly around the rim of his mug.

"Why?" Hermione questioned.

He didn't answer for several moments and she wondered if maybe she'd crossed into territory he'd rather not talk about.

"Because I didn't have anywhere else to go," he finally answered.

"What are you talking about? Your family is one of the most wealthy wizarding families in history. You certainly flaunted it over our heads the entire time we were in school."

He fidgeted with the handle on his empty mug, eyes downcast with what actually looked like shame.

"The Wizarding World treated me and my family in a way they felt delivered justice in the wake of Voldemort's rampage,” he said quietly. “Us and every family that helped him come to power had more than eighty percent of their wealth sanctioned off and given to the victims of the war. So in fact, my family's wealth did very little to get me here."

"Oh," she said, also twirling the empty mug in her hand.

"I used the remainder of my inheritance to pay my tuition. My Gringotts vault is empty now."

She could hardly believe that she was actually starting to feel sympathy for Draco Malfoy. After all the times he'd tormented her in school, after he made her feel so small so many times, she thought his suffering would bring her satisfaction. But the joy was lacking in the aftermath of his vulnerability.

"I guess that's what you meant by humbling experience back at the library, huh?" she said.

"Yeah... Something like that."

"Why did you pick a Muggle school, though? I would've thought that would be a complete betrayal of your family’s core values?" She pushed, attempting to reignite some of her past resentments for him.

"Part of my sentence from the Ministry was that I was banned from furthering my magical education. I was still seventeen so they couldn't charge me like they could an adult." He explained patiently, "My mother got house arrest for one year because they couldn't actually prove her involvement in anything but harbouring Voldemort at the manor."

"And what about your dad?" she asked, more out of curiosity than anything.

"He was sentenced to life in Azkaban," Draco told her. "It didn't matter though—he died a month after being imprisoned."

She was speechless. He seemed very collected, detached even, while recounting the death of his father, and her pity for him was amplified by his numb statements.

Hermione's face must've displayed her thoughts because Draco's expression warped to mirror that of the school bully he'd been for so many years. It was the first time tonight that she caught a glimpse of who he used to be.

"Whatever sympathy you're feeling for me and my family can go take a hike, Granger,” he snapped. “That man was dead to us months before Voldemort was gone. We watched him wither into a husk of the proud man he used to be—he became a simpering, pathetic crony and he deserted us. He's not missed."

"But how can you say that?" Hermione asked, shocked by the ire in his voice. "He was your father."

"A father who watched in silence as his son took the Dark Mark to keep his family from being wiped off the map and to save his mother from being raped by the Death Eaters that had turned our family home into a fucking brothel,” Draco said coldly. “I saved her. My father had failed so terribly that Voldemort promised to kill us all if my family didn't step up. My father chose to become a pitiful slave who licked the feet of anyone who walked past rather than find a way out. I will never be like him."

Hermione leaned back in her chair and gripped her hands tightly in her lap. She'd never considered that Draco actually hated Lucius, that there had been anything other than pure naivety in his decision to take the Dark Mark. It was clear to her now that there was more involved in who she thought he had been, too, and not just who he was now.

Draco sighed loudly and rubbed his hand over his face. "Sorry. I just never want anyone to look at me and see him."

"I understand," Hermione replied. "Maybe if you dyed your hair black? That might help."

He shook his head but smiled. "I think people might look at me and wonder if I'd recently taken up a career in chimney sweeping if I did that."

Her joke seemed to lighten to mood, but she wondered if maybe the time for questions was over until he asked one of his own.

"So, why did you have all those books on snakes? Considering snake charming as a hobby?"

 _Shit_.

She didn't have the energy to come up with any new lies to skim around what she was really trying to find answers for. Maybe just a little bit of the truth would be okay.

"I wanted to know what kind of snake a co-worker and I encountered on a work call yesterday afternoon. I'd never seen it before."

“Do you think it was an adder? Like the snake on the cover?” he asked.

“Maybe?”

"Adder snakes are one of the only native species of snakes in England. If it was one, it's interesting that you saw it out and about this time of year,” Draco explained. “Usually they're hunkering down in huge groups to sleep through the winter." His tone was casual, as if everyone knew all the facts he'd just spouted.

"Why do did you pick zoology? And why snakes?” Hermione ventured. “I mean, you were never really...enthusiastic about learning about magical beasts in school. Why are regular animals any different?" She remembered him writhing on the ground after Buckbeak had torn up his arm in their third year. The idea of him wanting to pursue any sort of greater knowledge of animals was bizarre to her.

He seemed to follow her train of thought because he smirked and said, "I didn't have a lot of passion to work with people after my trial—no good wizard would hire a Malfoy after what we did during the war.” He shrugged. “So, I came to the begrudging conclusion that working with animals was the best option I had.”  
  
Hermione couldn’t help smiling a bit at that.

“My previous ineptitude with wildlife was replaced with a deep respect for their ability to kill me,” Draco continued. “I became fascinated with learning more about them. I've only been hands on with the snakes at the London Zoo, though—my degree helped me get job at the reptile house there."

He hesitated, eyes flicking to her and away. "I was…also kind of intrigued by Nagini and Voldemort's relationship. It seemed cohesive in a way that it shouldn't have been.” 

Hermione stiffened and he rushed on.

“I wanted to find out if snakes that aren't in league with the most evil wizard in history could have the same capacity for a similar kind of relationship. It ended up becoming the focal point of my studies."

Hermione shuddered as she recalled her own interactions with Voldemort's pet. Her few run-ins with the huge snake had left her with nightmares for months afterwards. Pushing those memories aside, she focused on the information Malfoy had just divulged to her.

He had access to any number of snakes and an extensive knowledge of them to boot. Considering her lack of other options, Hermione realized that she needed Draco's help, but wasn’t sure how much to tell him about her current dilemma.

"Look, I know that your experience with snakes has not been as...fascinating. I don't want to rip open old wounds by talking about Voldemort or…anything. I think you have enough of all that for one lifetime." He spoke softly, sorrow and regret heavy in his tone.

Their eyes connected again. She remembered Bellatrix looming over her, wand pressed into her arm and her skin crawled. She still had the scars from that day, which made this interaction with Draco even more jarring. She was having tea with the boy who watched her be tortured. It hadn't occurred to her since the library, because he was so unlike the old Malfoy, but the mention of scars was a solid, uncomfortable reminder. She shouldn't even want to look at him, let alone be sitting at the same table learning about his life.

She considered getting up and leaving. The barista sashayed over to their table, interrupting Hermione’s thoughts. She asked Draco if he wanted anything else—the double entendre in her voice not at all subtle. But Draco just gave her a polite smile and said they were good, his attention on Hermione. The young lady audibly huffed and stomped back behind the counter.  
Alone once more, the aura of past pain started to build up in her again. She was about to stand and leave, when a small voice in the back of her head said,

 _You need him. Stay_.

A vibration began pulsing through her chest again, calming the tension in her shoulders and easing her distress. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, allowing the sensation to radiate through her. She didn't know if the voice meant she needed him to find information or if it was implying something deeper, but she couldn’t think about that right now.

"Um, Hermione?"

She slowly opened her eyes, and Draco eyed her with concern.

"You've had your eyes shut for five minutes. Is my company so boring that you fell asleep?"

"Can you take me there?" Hermione blurted out. "To the Reptile House?"

He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Why?"

Of course he needs a proper reason, she thought. But she wasn’t ready to give him one.

"I just...I need to see something.”

He considered her for a moment and she wondered if he was questioning why they were having coffee as well. They ought to have been sworn enemies according to their history, and years ago, they more or less were. She was part of the “golden trio”, after all—the kids that helped overthrow Voldemort, the wizard that Draco and his family practically worshipped. But tonight proved that maybe there was more at play than surface appearances. She had changed since Hogwarts too, though not as drastically. Regardless, she believed that everyone should have an opportunity to have a voice and to grow.  
Maybe it was time to let Draco Malfoy have a chance at that as well.

“Please?”

"I have a shift tomorrow afternoon,” he said at last. “I can come get you after it's done and bring you there."

Her smile was wide and genuine. "Yes, that would be brilliant."

Maybe tomorrow she'd see if this rabbit trail led to a snake hole.

\-----

They watched the man and woman leave the cafe around midnight. Never would they, or anyone for that matter, have predicted that Draco Malfoy and goody, goody Hermione Granger would be having friendly conversation together over tea.

"You don't think he's hers, do you?" the dark man asked in disbelief.

"Good heavens, no!” the woman exclaimed, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder. “Frankly, I'm shocked those two haven't clawed each other's eyes out yet."

Standing across the street in the shadows, the two of them carefully observed as the pair walked back in the direction of Hermione's apartment. Hermione and Draco went their separate ways, Draco stuffing his hands in his pockets as he departed.

"Why doesn’t he just Apparate?” the man wondered. “There's no one around to see."

"I don't know—maybe Malfoy really is turning over a new leaf. I don't care," she replied, annoyed by his needless questioning. "Keep tabs on her, darling. That's all you have to do."

He grunted. "Well, I haven't seen anything too suspicious yet, but there have been subtle hints... Apparently, Hermione's developed a sudden interest in snakes."

"Good. Things will start to move along quite nicely now, I'm sure."

The two of them glanced up in the direction of Hermione's apartment just as a light came on. They could see her standing in front of her stove with a kettle in her hand, her cat perched on the counter next to her.

"Someone will have found Fletchley by now,” the man said quietly, watching Hermione. “It'll probably be in the Daily Prophet tomorrow morning."

"It doesn't matter,” the woman snapped. “We left no trace and we got what we wanted. Now we just have to acquire the other ones, including Granger's."

Without a second look in Hermione's direction, the woman Disapparated. But the man lingered; his eyes portrayed a sad sort of regret because he knew what was to come. He allowed himself a moment to dwell on it, then he pulled his eyes away from the kitchen window and followed after his companion.

This would not be the last time he saw Hermione. Poor, ignorant girl—there was more in store for her than she could ever imagine.


	5. The House of a King

**Chapter 4**  
  
_"Who's in your shadows?  
Who's ready to play?  
Are we the hunters?  
Or are we the prey?  
There's no surrender  
And there's no escape  
Are we the hunters?  
Or are we the prey?  
This is a wild game of survival"  
  
\- "Game of Survival" by Ruelle_  
  
______________________________  
  
The pounding rain splattered the window pane of Hermione’s room as grey light spilled through the open curtains. She had pushed all the covers to the floor sometime in the night and lay shivering in only her nightgown, despite the sweat beading on her skin.  
  
Her thin lilac satin shift clung to her body, sweat soaking through the fabric and into the mattress. Tremors racked her body as she breathed through clenched teeth. She'd been awake for some time, willing her body to calm and trying instead to focus on the relentless downpour outside.   
  
It didn't make sense—she was so sick, even though she’d felt fine yesterday evening, almost good as new. She'd been completely exhausted when she’d come home, but the headache had vanished and her fever had disappeared. How could she deteriorate this much so swiftly?   
  
Summoning all her strength and determination, Hermione rose and slowly shuffled to the bathroom. Her shivers turned to short breaths—it was too hot in her bedroom, everything was too hot. Turning on the shower, Hermione laid herself against the cool porcelain of the tub as the water rained down over her. The chilly stream did little to cool her skin and she could've sworn steam rose from her on contact. After a few minutes, her teeth started chattering and she flicked to tap to pour hot water down instead.  
  
Unaware of how long she actually lay there with her eyes closed, she turned the water off and relied solely on stubbornness and determination to push herself to a standing position. The towel was like sand paper on her raw skin and she stood, braced against the counter, while the water dripped off of her. She'd never been so sucked of energy before. Eventually, she managed to pull a housecoat on and tentatively moved into the kitchen.  
  
Crookshanks pranced alongside her, oblivious or uncaring to her frail condition. She only made it to the stove before she had to sink to the floor for a rest, the tremors overtaking her body again. After several minutes of concentrated breathing, she was able to stand and put the kettle on the stove. She slogged her way to the couch to rest again.  
  
Frustrated tears streamed down her cheeks. She was supposed to meet Draco that afternoon. Why did her body have to betray her when all her mind wanted was to find answers?   
  
The kettle's shrill whistle split through the air and she forced her legs to hold her weight as she prepared a strong breakfast tea. Sitting on the couch again, she withstood the scalding on her tongue and throat as she drank down a few mouthfuls of the caffeinated beverage. While she waited for the tea to do its job, her mind filled with the previous evening: seeing Draco, Draco walking her home, having tea with Draco... It all centered around him. It was as though fate had a sick sense of humour and she was the butt of its joke.   
  
Hermione rubbed her eyes and dragged her fingers down her face. It was truly incredible how her life had been turned upside down in the matter of two days. So far, being 20 wasn't all she had hoped for.  
  
A light tapping interrupted her pitiful musing and she cracked an eye open to see a tiny owl perched outside her window. The rain had eased up, but Pig was still drenched. He stared back at her and lifted his leg where a small piece of parchment was secured. Taking a steadying breath, Hermione forced her body up again and over to open the window. Pig hopped inside and bobbed his head impatiently while she untied the note.   
  
It read,  
  
_Haven't heard from you and I want to know you're okay. Let me know when you're ready for me to come see you. I love you._  
  
Sighing heavily and feeling a bit guilty, Hermione shooed Ron's tiny owl back out the window without a reply. She wasn't in any state for visitors and, if she was being honest, she didn't really want to see Ron right now. He would just try and take her to the Burrow, where Molly would feed her soup and make her sleep until she finally felt better. She loved Ron and his family, but being fussed over and force-fed chicken noodle soup wasn't really what she needed at the moment.   
  
Hermione ignored Crookshanks incessant meowing as she collapsed on the couch and relinquished herself to the need for rest. She dozed in and out of sleep as the rain on her window tapered off to a faint drizzle.  
  
Some time later, a loud rapping dragged her out of the black of slumber. She was still so tired and ill that she wanted to cry from the unfairness of it all. She would have paid anything in the world for the person on the other side of her front door leave her to wallow in misery.   
  
"Granger? Are you there?"  
  
Draco's strong voice sounded from behind the door and her heart jumped in her chest. What was he doing here?  
  
“Granger?” he called out again.  
  
She couldn’t decide whether to let him know she was alive or stay silent and hope he left—she didn’t want anyone to see her like this, least of all Draco. He decided for her, however, when he opened the door and he cautiously walked in.  
  
“Granger?” He scanned the apartment until his eyes fell upon her fragile frame draped on the couch and alarm appeared in his eyes. Hastening over to her, he kneeled and looked over her feverish features.   
  
"Hermione... Are you okay?"  
  
He hesitantly placed his palm on her forehead, as though unsure whether or not she'd object. A calm vibration radiated from her chest up to where his hand lay, relaxing the tremors and releasing the tension from her body. Hermione pressed her head against his calloused hand without meaning to, sighing and seeking comfort. She closed her eyes, feeling the fever evaporate from under her skin, and she soaked in the relief. She reluctantly opened her eyes and found him watching her with an unreadable expression on his face.  
  
Jerking away, Hermione sat up and cleared her throat awkwardly.   
  
“Sorry, I don’t know…” She tugged her blanket around her shoulders and couldn’t quite look at Draco. “I was ill.” Her cheeks were hot, though this time it had nothing to do with a fever.  
  
“I didn’t mean to, um,” said Draco, sitting back. “When you didn’t answer, I got worried.”  
  
“I’m feeling better now,” Hermione said in a rush. “So, I’ll just go get changed, and then we can go, okay?”  
  
Draco stood when she did. “We don’t have to rush, if you’re still…”  
  
“I’m fine!” Hermione assured him brightly and rushed into her bedroom, determined not to think about what on earth possibly just happened.  
  
  
He nodded without comment and took a seat on the couch. Hermione hurried to her bedroom, trying to put some distance between them. She threw on a pair of jeans and a knitted sweater and emerged to find Draco and Crookshanks eyeing each other uncertainly.  
  
"What's this furball's name again?" Draco asked, not taking his eyes from the cat.  
  
"Crookshanks." Hermione responded. Her feline had never tolerated anyone but her over the years. It had taken Ron ages to build enough of a positive standing with the snooty tomcat to even be present in the same room as him.   
  
The two males faced off with each other until Crookshanks finally turned on his heel and showed Draco his rear, before nonchalantly waltzing into Hermione's bedroom.  
  
"Kind of a grumpy bloke, eh?" Draco said, coming over to where she stood.  
  
"He just doesn't like strangers. I'm shocked he even made eye contact with you, to be honest."  
  
Draco grinned, and than looked her up and down. "Are you sure you're up to go? We can wait for some other time..."  
  
Ignoring him, Hermione tugged on a pair of boots and a warm jacket over her sweater. Astonishingly, she felt better than she had all day—her tremors were gone and her fever appeared to have broken as well.   
  
"We can use the alley around the corner to Disapparate," she said.  
  
The two of them exited the apartment and walked around the building, their shoes quickly soaking through from the huge puddles on the sidewalk. Stopping behind a trash bin, Hermione realized that she had no idea what the Reptile House looked like. She hadn't been to the zoo since she was small girl, and the Reptile House was a relatively new addition.  
  
"Do you know where you're going, Granger?" Draco asked her with a smirk.   
  
When she bit her lip uncertainly in response,  
he held his hand out to her. Hermione hesitated just a moment than grasped his palm in hers. The next second, her feet landed on darker pavement behind a big brick building; a large dumpster hid them from public view. As soon as she released Malfoy's hand, Hermione felt a sudden sense of emptiness. She shook it off—she'd barely eaten anything in the past twenty-four hours. No wonder she felt empty.  
  
"How undercover did you want to make this visit? I can bring you in through the front entrance or the back door—it's up to you," Draco offered.   
  
”Hmm…” Hermione wondered. It didn't make much sense for her to attempt this research visit unless she had an 'up close' encounter, like she’d had at Mrs. Goggins house.   
  
"Probably the staff entrance?” she said. “I'd love to actually be as close to the snakes as possible, if that's okay."  
  
“Sure.” Draco pulled a set of keys out of his jeans pocket. She followed him as he went to a door that said 'Staff Only'. Inside, was a generic looking breakroom with some lockers on one side and a table with a coffee maker and microwave on the other.  
  
"It's a good day to be here," Draco said, heading toward another door on the opposite wall. "We are feeding the snakes today, and that usually only happens every two weeks for the big guys. I'm assuming you wanted to see the larger ones?"  
  
Hermione hadn't actually considered what kind of snake she would want to see exactly, but if anything strange was to happen, it likely would happen with the more substantial serpents. She nodded and went to follow Draco when a newspaper on one of the tables caught her eye. The front page had a picture of a young man on it that she recognized with a jolt: Justin Finch-Fletchley.   
  
**Local Man Found with Heart Missing  
  
Shocked, she paused to scan the article.   
  
"Justin Finch-Fletchley was found by his brother, Mark Finch-Fletchley, late last night with a gaping hole in the middle of his chest. Police have stated that an investigation is being done and no suspects have been taken into custody as of publication. When asked who possibly could have done this to his brother, Mark was quoted saying, "He didn't have any enemies that I knew of…but he had been acting odd the last few weeks. He got angry at the drop of a hat and he didn't want to visit with anyone. He even took all his sick days at work without telling anyone why. It just wasn’t like him. I was worried, but he didn’t want to see me… I wish I had some answers."  
Story continued on page 7."**  
  
"What are you looking at?"  
  
Hermione jumped and dropped the paper. Her hands shook and she couldn't take a deep breath.  
  
" I just—I just saw Justin's picture—he’s dead.” she responded, swallowing to wet her parched throat. “We went to school with him, remember?"  
  
"Yeah, I saw that this morning.” Draco shook his head. “Crazy, isn’t it? You never think you'll actually know the people that those things happen too."  
  
A sudden wave of anger gripped her in the midst of her panic and she rounded on him.  
  
"Two years ago, that's all that was in the paper! The Daily Prophet was constantly filled with articles and photos of my classmates, and of my friends,” she snapped. “Those things happened to them. There was a war. This is just another reminder of those times, Malfoy."  
  
He stared at her, silence hanging in the air between them in the wake of her rage. Hermione tried to take a steadying deep breath, more anger warring in her. How could he forget? How could he not know? She looked away, a little guilty she’d yelled nonetheless.  
  
"You're right," he finally said.  
  
She met his eyes again, and was surprised to see actual remorse reflected there.  
  
"I sometimes forget how fresh those wounds are for everyone. I'm sorry."  
  
Hermione stared, unsure of how to handle his sincerity. She'd never experienced any genuine emotion from Draco, let alone regret.  
  
After a long pause, she managed, "Thank you."  
  
Glancing down at the newspaper, she shivered as a chill overtook her. It had to be a coincidence—there was no way her symptoms had anything to do with what Justin had been going through before his murder... Right?  
  
Clearly he was murdered, since a giant hole in the chest and missing heart didn't usually point to suicide and there was no way it was an accident...  
  
"We need to go now, Granger,” Draco said gently. “The big guys will be going to sleep as soon as they eat, and than you'll never get to see them in action."  
  
She nodded and they left the break room. Fluorescent light flooded the hallway as Hermione followed Draco through several sets of doors. The rooms they passed were filled with a menagerie of items, ranging from stainless-steel tables to generic supplies to walls lined with wrangling tools which she assumed were used to handle the serpents. Draco finally stopped in front of a large white door and turned to Hermione.  
  
"Are you still sure about this?" he asked, giving her one final chance to back out.  
  
"I'm positive." She squared her shoulders and mentally prepared herself for whatever waited for her behind that door.  
  
Draco turned the knob and went through the door first, then Hermione followed close behind. She didn't know what she'd been expecting—maybe live snakes covering every inch of the room like the nest at Mrs. Goggins or the little tropical enclosures other animals were housed in—but she wasn't anticipating fridges and mice. Lots of mice.  
  
The room looked like a large industrial kitchen upon first glance, but as she looked closer, she realized that it was designed specifically to fit the needs of the animals at the zoo. Containers labelled 'Exotic Bird Pellets' and ‘Dried Fruit for Monkeys' lined the counters and shelves; she was sure she even saw crickets and worms in one of the glass jars. Mice scurried around in glass cages and she tried to ignore their adorable, whiskered faces—they were probably what the snakes ate. But to her surprise, Draco opened the fridge and pulled out a large slab of wrapped meat.  
  
"They don't eat live prey?" she asked, thinking back on an article she'd read years ago about how the predators in zoos still required the thrill of a hunt when they were fed.  
  
"Snakes don't require their meat to be alive,” Draco explained, unwrapping the meat. “We usually kill the mice first so they aren't in distress while a predator hunts them. We also don't want our serpents getting hurt if the animal they're supposed to be eating fights back." He grabbed a hook off the wall. "Especially since the blokes I'm taking you to see would need one or two rabbits to make it a full meal."  
  
Draco put on a pair of plastic, disposable gloves and began prepping the meat to go on the hook. Hermione had never had an aversion to meat, but even so, somehow the chunk of cow looked delectable enough to make her stomach grumble.  
  
"Granger, you're eyeing this slab of beef like you want to start gnawing on it. Should I get one out for you next?" Draco teased.  
  
"No!" she exclaimed. She suddenly realized how hungry she was after not eating for so long and promised to fill her rumbling belly as soon as this was all done. She wrenched her focus away from the snake’s meal and forced herself to look somewhere else.   
  
"We are just going to feed Cyrus, but we have to pass by all the snakes to reach his enclosure so you'll get to see most of them." He threw out the gloves and they left out the back door, with the meat hanging securely on the hook in Draco’s hand.  
  
Hermione followed, wondering how many snakes actually lived at the zoo and she cursed her failure to research before she embarked on this particular venture. As they stepped into a wide hallway, she was caught off guard when an onslaught of noise blasted through her skull.  
  
Draco didn't notice that her steps faltered while they passed by multiple glass viewing windows dispersed along the walls. Each one contained an individual snake, some small, some large, but all of them watching intently as they passed by. Hermione barely contained a whimper as she desperately tried to suppress the barrage of sound—it sounded like every single snake was hissing into her ear at the same time. It was the same way she'd felt at Mrs. Goggins’s home, but heavily amplified.  
  
She vaguely registered Draco stopped in front of a particularly massive window and she glanced up to see his mouth moving. She couldn't hear what he was saying over the din in her head, but he must have been waiting for her to respond because he peered at her when she didn’t say anything. His lips formed her name.  
  
A thick, cloud of fog seeped into the borders of her vision and she couldn’t fully comprehend what was going on. She couldn't break through it, even though she tried.  
  
Draco's questioning stare shifted into genuine concern. She thought he was calling her name but she couldn’t be sure. The only sound was the violent chorus of indiscernible buzzing and she was losing herself in the wave of it. She was falling, she was sure of it—the floor had collapsed beneath her feet and she was falling. But at the last possible moment before she was lost to blackened abyss, a commanding voice ordered silence upon her mind and the maddening assault ceased.   
  
It was as if someone had splashed cold water on her. She gasped sharply, forcing air into her oxygen-deprived lungs. She could feel the floor under her knees and Malfoy’s hands gripping her shoulders tightly, shaking her gently. Blinking against the harsh lights, she managed to focus on his face, close to hers, as he kneeled in front of her.  
  
"Hermione? Hermione!"   
  
_Hermione_.  
  
The deep voice that had saved her beckoned—not Draco’s voice, but something else. She instinctively looked through the viewing window. The area beyond was filled with leafy foliage and had a small pond nestled amongst the damp mulch, and a menacing, hooded serpent staring straight at her through the glass.  
  
The cobra was longer than any snake she'd ever seen, and raised itself almost as high as Draco stood. It lacked the typical brown colouring of most of his species, but instead, it was a stark white. Its scales shone brightly in contrast to the deep green filling the enclosure.  
  
_I apologize for my overzealous brethren. They lack tact and composure in the presence of royalty and may have overstepped their bounds when attempting to reach you._  
  
"Hermione?” Draco gave her another shake. “What happened? Are you okay."  
  
Hermione ignored him, unable to take her eyes off of the cobra. Disbelief shut down any response she would've had. This couldn't be happening—she couldn't talk to snakes! But here she was laying paralyzed on the cold tiled floor, with an enormous serpent looming before her, its—his voice resonating in her head.  
  
_I have lived many years and only heard of the Sacred, let alone met a Queen. I'm honoured to be in your presence, your majesty. My kin and I are forever in your service._  
  
The cobra bent itself forward, breaking eye contact to look at the ground. Was he bowing to her?  
  
“Hermione?” Draco prodded, following her gaze.  
  
"What kind of snake is he?" she asked quietly, still transfixed.  
  
"That’s Cyrus—the snake we were coming in to feed,” said Draco. "He was found in South Asia as a baby and taken here because albinos can't camouflage themselves in the wild. He's kind of the King of the snakes here. Look, are you okay?"  
  
The ivory serpent straightened and peered at her and Draco through the glass, as if waiting for instruction. Hermione’s heartbeat pounded in her ears and adrenaline coursed through her. She needed to get out of here—she needed to escape this hell.   
  
"I can't be here anymore..." she whispered, panic rising like bile in her chest. This was too much, and she couldn't comprehend what was happening to her.  
  
“Hermione—”  
  
She shoved Draco away from her and bolted for the exit. She almost got lost trying to find her way back out to the alley in her hysteria. Draco's footsteps echoed behind her and his voice begged her to slow down, but it only spurred her on. All she could think of was to run faster, away from the chaos and confusion.   
  
She burst through the back door into the alley and immediately Apparated to her front door. The entrance was already open, and her breath snagged in her chest. It was déjà vu from when Susan Bishop showed up unannounced and ended up in the hospital because of her.  
  
Pulling out her wand, Hermione went in through the open door and studied her apartment for signs of a break-in. Everything was where she'd left it this morning, even her purse still sat on the small table by the entrance. The only difference was the massive pair of muddy sneakers thrown carelessly on the floor at her feet.  
  
Hermione lowered her wand and took a deep breath. She desperately attempted to reign in her tumultuous emotions, preparing for the conversation she was about to have with a certain red-haired man. She should’ve have answered his letter earlier—it would be easier than having to face him now. How many months before the aftermath of their break up wore off, she wondered idly.  
  
Gently placing her wand next to her purse, she headed to her kitchen and found him, bending down to peer into her fridge. When Ron straightened, he had his face full of leftovers and finally saw her standing there. He nearly choked in his surprise.  
  
"Blimey, Hermione!” He coughed and hastily set down the plate of leftovers. “You're as quiet as your bloody cat. You almost scared me to death!"  
  
"Sorry," she said. “The door was open and I didn’t know you were here.”  
  
He blinked at her terse reply. "Oh—well, I just wanted to come over and see if you were okay." His ears reddened and he added in a mumble, "You didn't reply this morning and I just wondered if, um, you needed any help. I know you needed space, but I…"  
  
"I can take care of myself, Ron." She realized she sounded childish as soon as the words had left her mouth.  
  
"I know that 'Mione,” he replied softly, his cheeks matching his ears now. “I've never doubted that. You're the most capable person I know. I was just, you know, worried."   
  
She felt anything but capable right now—if she was so capable why did she feel like everything was falling apart? Why did her body feel so broken, so often lately? Even with Ron standing there by the counter, she'd never felt more alone. Her lies weighed heavily on her shoulders, and made her stomach churn uneasily.  
  
_I’m going crazy, Ron,_ she thought. _A snake talked to me and I almost murdered Susan and I can’t bear to have you here._  
  
“You should go,” she told him. “I’m fine, I just…I’ve been sick. I need to lie down, that’s all.”  
  
He looked at her with such compassion and worry, she suddenly couldn't handle it anymore. Tears streamed down her cheeks and a sob was wrenched savagely from her throat. Wrapping her arms around herself, Hermione closed her eyes against the sorrow that creeped into her veins. She was so cold.   
  
" Hermione? What's wrong?" Ron moved around the counter.  
  
“I can’t tell you,” Hermione managed between sobs.  
  
“Aw, come off it, you can tell me anything,” said Ron softly.  
  
Hermione cried harder, backing away from him. Right now, he was the last person she thought she could tell. Not with him still reeling from their break up, and her struggling in vein to understand what the hell was happening to her.  
  
“Whatever it is, it’s okay.” Ron hurried to comfort her, and placed his hands on her shaking shoulders. In his haste, he unknowingly gripped her too tightly.  
  
His fingers pinched her skin and a hiss no human should ever make erupted from her chest. The sheet of green descended over her vision and for a moment she lost all reason—she only felt the blinding, desperate need to defend herself. She couldn’t see, she couldn’t hear, and then all of a sudden, sound and sight returned in a flash. Ron tore away from her, swearing aggressively. The smell of burning flesh filling the air and Hermione staggered back, shaking and close to retching. She stared in horror at his smoking hands, the skin was blistered and raw.  
  
He let out a pained yell. "What the fuck, Hermione!” He cradled his hands and cried out. “Oh, bloody hell—what did you do? Why'd you do that?" He groaned and glared at her, pain and confusion translating to anger. He glared at her in disbelief and betrayal, clearing thinking she'd intentionally used magic on him.  
  
"Ron! Oh no, Ron, you don't understand! I’m sorry—I didn't mean to." She rushed over to him, trembling and swallowing down the acid in her throat.  
  
What had she done?  
  
“Are you okay?” she asked, reaching for him.  
  
He flinched away from her and the rejection cut deeper than she could have imagined. He didn't want her to touch him.   
  
“No,” he barked, and bit back another yelp of pain. Tears gathered in his eyes.  
  
“Let me help you,” she pleaded.  
  
"I can take a bloody hint,” he snapped. “I’m going.” The hurt in his voice muffled it, making him sound like they were twelve again. He turned his back on her and he started for the door, almost forgetting his shoes in his haste to get away from her.  
  
"Please, Ron, don't go. I swear I didn't mean to —please stay!" she begged, rushing after him.  
  
" What did you mean to do?" he demanded.   
  
Tears splashed down her face when she realized she didn't have an answer. She'd hurt one of the most important people in the world to her because he'd tried to soothe her.  
  
Maybe she really was turning into a monster.  
  
“I…I don’t know,” she whispered.  
  
Ron shook his head, some of the anger receding from his flushed features. "Even the strongest people in the world need help sometimes, Hermione. I don’t know what the bloody hell is going on with you, but I’ll be around when you’re ready to admit that to yourself." Ron closed the door, leaving her to wallow in her self-created destruction.  
  
Crumpling to the floor, Hermione was lost to her despair. She could barely breathe as the sobs wrenched the oxygen from her lungs. Ron was one of her best friends—they'd shared the last two years being even more than that, and though it hadn’t worked for them that way, she still cared for him. He was still her friend. Now, she had so many secrets piling up inside that it was like she was a completely different person.  
  
What kind of person didn't even confide in her closest friends about the devastation in her life? She had been in such upheaval and hadn't even thought to include Ron in her quest for answers. She'd been a horrible friend to him.  
  
Crookshanks had settled himself next to her sometime during her breakdown, his warm body snuggled against her leg. His heat was the only thing keeping her centred as she fractured apart on her apartment floor. The voice of the snake taunted her as Ron's parting words hung heavily in the air.  
  
Where was she supposed to go from here?  
  
A knock on her door startled her back to reality. She sucked in a few breaths to steady herself and she tried to wipe the moisture from her face with her sleeve.   
  
"Granger? It's me."   
  
Draco's voice echoed from behind the door, and for an inexplicable reason, her sobs returned in earnest. She hid her face in her arms. Vaguely aware of the door opening, Hermione desperately wished he would just leave. When nothing happened for a few moments, she thought her wish had come true. Then, he sank to the floor and settled next to her.  
  
She continued to cry, unable to temper the flood even in his presence. He didn’t say anything, didn’t reach for her. He simply sat with her as she let the hurricane pass, his thigh just barely brushing her hip.  
  
After a while, warmth returned to her body and the tears subsided. Her eyes were swollen and her chest ached, but she could finally breathe. Draco waited patiently for her to compose herself, his hands folded in his lap. Crookshank's purring was the only sound in the apartment. Even the rain outside had stopped, deepening the silence.  
  
"What do you want, Draco?" she managed, her voice hoarse from the abuse she'd done to her throat.  
  
"You ran away from the snakes as fast as you could, Hermione. The least I could do was come over and make sure you hadn't had a heart attack," he responded sarcastically, though his tone was oddly soft.  
  
Hermione shook her head and almost smiled.  
  
There was more silence between them as Crookshanks sauntered off, apparently deeming that the crisis had been handled and he’d done his job.   
  
"Look, I know you hate me and everything, Granger, but…you're clearly going through something hellish," Draco observed, stretching out his long legs. "Sometimes to get through hell, you need to talk to someone whose been there already and made it out."  
  
He gracefully rose to his feet and offered her a hand. Hermione looked at his outstretched fingers. It was such a simple gesture, but it meant so much to her. She had the impression that it did for him as well. He knew what it felt like to be left with no where to go, she realized. Maybe she and Malfoy had more in common then she had initially wanted to believe.  
  
Hesitantly taking his hand, a sort of electricity coursed through her arm on contact, like a static shock from rubbing your feet on a carpet before touching someone. He glanced at their interlocking hands curiously, his blonde brows coming together. They held onto each other for longer than was necessary and it gave Hermione enough time to fully make up her mind.  
  
"Something's wrong with me, Draco..."  
  
Finally releasing her, Malfoy stuffed his hands in his pockets. "What do you mean by ‘something’? Like, you're ill?"  
  
"Kind of... I don't know... " She went to the kitchen to put the kettle on the stove. Draco took this as an invitation and followed, settling himself on her couch. Surprisingly, Crookshanks jumped up next to him and made himself comfortable.  
  
"I'm assuming this has something to do with what happened at the Reptile House?" he asked gently.  
  
Hermione sat down in the arm chair across from him and tucked her legs underneath her. "Yes, it does...”  
  
She took a breath, debating the wisdom of talking to him—to anyone. She was going to sound insane. But maybe talking would help, as he had suggested. Somehow, maybe because she didn’t know him very well, because he could be more objective than those closest to her, she found herself able to find the words.  
  
“Cyrus…talked to me," she said and bit her lip anxiously.  
  
"What do you mean he talked to you?" Draco replied evenly.  
  
Hermione took the next few minutes to convey everything that had happened to her in the last three days. The incident at Mrs. Goggins house with David, the paralyzation of Susan Bishop, and her encounter with Cyrus at the Reptile House. She concluded by relaying what happened between her and Ron before Draco had shown up.  
  
The huge deluge of information left her feeling lighter than she had in days; she'd finally said all her secrets out loud and her relief was tangible.  
  
Draco reflected silently for some time after she'd finished, so she rose and distracted herself by preparing tea for the two of them. When she returned with two steaming mugs, he looked up at her expectantly.  
  
"So where do we go from here?" he asked.  
  
"What do you mean, ‘we’?"  
  
"I mean, you and I,” he said. “You know, for the brightest witch of your age you can be kind of daft sometimes, Granger." Draco smirked—an expression she was quickly becoming well acquainted with on him.  
  
"I didn't tell you all of this to make you feel obliged to help me, Malfoy."  
  
"Then why did you tell me?"  
  
Hermione thought about that as she lifted her mug to her lips, blowing softly to cool it. Why had she told Draco Malfoy her darkest secret? A secret she hadn't even told Ron or Harry about.  
  
"Look, Granger, I want to help you because I want to help you, not because I feel obligated to,” he said. “You Gryffindors are always thinking so much about courage and responsibility, you forget to consider that sometimes you need to be clever to figure out a puzzle, too."  
  
She studied him uncertainly, unsure whether or not his intentions really were to help. He was a Malfoy after all. And yet…  
  
"Please, Hermione. Let me help you." His emerald eyes reflected his sincerity.  
  
Before she could respond, Crookshanks trundled over from his position on the couch and settled on Draco's lap, purring contentedly. The man she didn't know, and didn’t know if she could trust didn't even blink as he began stroking her cat with a gentleness she'd never thought him capable of. Her heart swelled, and somehow, she felt at peace looking at the two of them, sitting so comfortably together.  
  
Hermione took a slow, considering breath. If she wasn’t able to talk to Ron, and she wasn’t ready to tell Harry, then maybe…maybe for now, she could turn to Malfoy.  
  
Just for now.  
  
"Okay,” she finally said. “I'd really appreciate the help." It was hard, admitting to him and to herself that she couldn't do this alone. But very much needed, she realized.   
  
As she watched Draco lean back on her couch, relaxed with a satisfied grin on his face, she thought that maybe he was right. Lions used bravery and courage to conquer, but maybe what she needed to solve this puzzle was the sly nature of a serpent.  
  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to clear up confusion anyone has in regards to Draco. Clearly he's gone through some major character development in the two years prior to the time our story takes place. I'm fully aware that one of the reasons we all love him in Dramione stories is due to his wit and ability to challenge Hermione, so bare with me! This is a slow burn and I hope you can all hang in there with me as things start to get interesting! We will be unraveling more of his character in the chapters to come.
> 
> Thank you to red_b_rackham for beta-ing my work! She has turne an okay story into so much more!


	6. Muggle Literature

**Chapter 5**

" _On hearing himself called Polendina for the third time, Geppetto lost his head with rage and threw himself upon the carpenter. Then and there they gave each other a sound thrashing._

_After this fight, Mastro Antonio had two more scratches on his nose, and Geppetto had two buttons missing from his coat. Thus having settled their accounts, they shook hands and swore to be good friends for the rest of their lives.”_

_\- Carlo Collodi, "Pinocchio"._

\-----

_Hermione peered around the dreary room, studying the black leather furniture and vacant, onyx hearth. The room was devoid of anyone else and a draft filtered lazily through the space, lifting the hairs on her arms. There were pillars made entirely of human skulls on either side of the room, each empty eye socket seemed to be staring intently at her. Her heart sped up and she was unnerved by the entire situation, but the space seemed oddly familiar. Her mind unexpectedly pulled up a photo she'd seen in 'Hogwarts: A History' back in first year and she suddenly realized that she was currently standing in the Slytherin common room._

_What was she doing here?_

_A door creeked behind her and she turned toward the disturbance, wand in hand. Heart beating in her throat, Hermione scanned the room. A hauntingly familiar sound filled her ears, like someone dragging a heavy bag across the stone floor. Gathering her courage, she slowly crossed to what she assumed was the exit into the dungeons beyond. A shrill squeaking resounded off the walls as she swung the door open, the flickering light of torches the only illumination to guide her. Hermione's wand nearly slipped from her grasp as sweat pooled in her palms. Something waited for her beyond that doorway, she knew it with every fibre of her being. She was being hunted._

_Praying to Godric Gyriffindor for bravery, Hermione stepped over the threshold into the hollow space beyond.... And there stood Draco. He leaned against the wall just like he had lounged against the bookshelf at the Roehampton library - his hands shoved in the pockets of his Hogwarts uniform._

_"Enemies of the heir beware." He drawled, not even glancing in her direction as he examined his finger nails, "You'll be next, mudbloods."_

_"What did you just say to me?" She demanded, directing her wand at him. Tears pooled in her eyes at the use of the vulgar slur from their adolescence. He had seemed so different now._

_Curling his lip up in disgust, he straightened and sauntered in her direction. She kept her wand raised, heart breaking with every step he took._

_Finally stopping, he invaded her personal space. Bending close, Draco's lips brushed the shell of her ear and shivers went up her spine._

_"Soon you'll be the one on the front page too, eh Granger?"_

_Leaning away she peered disbelieving at his face. Hermione's shock was evident when she saw that his eyes had warped into that of a snake; slitted and yellow. His lips curved upward and without warning he opened his mouth and violently lunged for her throat._

She awoke with a start, a scream fading from her throat as she bolted upright. Sweat dripped from her face as she rested her head in her hands, desperately gulping air into her lungs. Tears streamed down her face as the the familiar look of condescension on Malfoy's face continued to haunt her.

It was just a nightmare. It was just a bad dream.

Grey light filtered through her curtains, telling her that it was still early morning. Hermione knew she wouldn't be going to sleep again so she shoved the comforter to the side and exposed her legs to the cold air of dawn.

Why did she insist on only wearing night gowns to bed?! Flannel pyjamas would probably have been a better option but something about the lace and satin made her feel feminine... She so rarely felt sexy that even the smallest effort made a difference, even if it was only for herself.

Ron had never felt compelled to tell her she was beautiful. It wasn't that he didn't think she was, but because of the many years of innocent friendship they'd shared he never thought he had too. She should just know he thought she was beautiful... At least, that was what he said the night she'd drank too much and revealed her insecurities.

Shivering, Hermione scampered to the bathroom to take care of business. Tea was next on the agenda and she filled her kettle as high as it would allow. It had been late last night before she had finally slid into bed. Draco had stayed to ask questions about her predicament, which had surprised her. He'd been curious about things she hadn't even thought of.

Did she have a family history of any of her symptoms? Had she been in contact with any unusual creatures because of her work?

His inquires had made her consider things she hadn't before and even if no leads had been made, she still felt better when all was said and done.

Crookshanks eyed Hermione from beside his food bowl. He had remained in Malfoy's lap the entire evening and she was still in a state of awe over it. Her cat had accepted him... That was quite the exceptional feat. It made her more willing to be honest and speak her thoughts. Animals had deeper instinct when it came to the goodness of people and she trusted her cat more than her closest friend. If Crookshanks deemed Draco worthy, it was not to be dismissed as a simple cuddle session.

Sipping her tea, she absentmindedly scanned the headlines of today's Daily Prophet. It was typical Sunday puff pieces; successful fundraisers from the day before and even a full report on the horrible storms invading the area and how they would be around for the unforseeable future. But at the back of the paper, near the obituaries, an article caught her attention. A picture of Colin Creevey smiled back at her as she scanned the missing persons report.

It stated how Colin had been missing for two days. He hadn't shown up for work on Friday and no one had seen him since. The startling lack of information had her feeling incomplete and her heart ached when she remembered the toothy grin Colin sported when they were in school. He had been in Gryffindor, part of her house family... And he was missing.

An abrupt tapping broke through her thoughts and she turned to see Athena, Ginny's eagle owl peering through her window. Rising to her feet, Hermione allowed the majestic bird access and untied the note attached to her leg.

**_Heard what happened with Ron. Coming to see you this morning. Please put pants on._ **

Harry's untidy scrawl was so recognizable that he had no need to sign the note. And his indication for her to wear pants was a dead give away. It was a long going joke between her and Harry that they give at least fifteen minutes notice before visits due to an unfortunate mishap a year ago. Hermione had gone to visit Harry and Ginny and, unbeknownst to her, had walked in on an 'intimate' moment between them. Since then, they'd made a rule that an alert be given.

Hermione swiftly went into her room to make sure she was decent. Sweat pants and a baggy sweater would have to suffice and she exited her room just as a single knock sounded on the opposite side of her front door.

"Coming!" She hollered, pulling her tawny hair into a pony tail as she hastened to the entrance.

Swinging the door open she was startled to reveal Draco. He held a tray with two steaming drinks and a pastry bag settled between them.

"What are you doing here?"

Raising his eyebrow, Draco seemed taken aback by her standoffish demeanour, "Selling encyclopedias, obviously. You interested? The tea is for the next house, the woman there says I'm a dapper young man. I got her a scone."

Crookshanks twined between his legs in greeting, purring obnoxiously.

Realizing how rude she'd been, Hermione smiled apologetically. "Sorry, I'm just expecting someone else." She gestured for him to come in, Crookshanks following dutifully.

"It's okay. I don't actually have any encyclopedias. And I actually think the person next door is a middle aged man named Howard."

He retrieved her a scone and tea before sipping on his own. He clearly had no intention of leaving soon.

"I'm sorry, Draco. I'm actually expecting Harry here any minute. Thank you for the tea though."

He didn't say anything as he studied her, eyes going from her unwashed hair to her fuzzy socked feet. Suddenly self conscious, Hermione shuffled anxiously from side to side.

"You look different." He finally said, eyes meeting hers.

"You don't have to be rude! I just woke up and it's early. It's your fault for barging in here without giving me warning." Hermione felt the flush creeping up her neck, not quite sure why she was defending herself so vehemently.

"I like it when you put your hair up."

Pausing in her nervous shifting, Hermione stared at him. He simply looked back at her, his expression the same one he'd worn when she'd unknowingly leaned into his hand yesterday morning. The flush had reached her cheeks and a warm vibration began in her chest, travelling to the rest of her body. Her nerve endings tingled oddly and she was very aware of Draco's gaze on her.

"What the hell are you doing here, Malfoy?!"

The moment shattered as Harry's furious voice erupted from the front door.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed in surprise.

Harry stood unmoving in her doorway, mouth pressed into a tight line and fire in his eyes. "Hermione, what is Malfoy doing in your house?"

"He was just leaving. Please calm down." Hermione went to her best friend and gently placed her hand on his shoulder.

"He better be." Harry replied steely, his shoulder tense under her hand.

Draco remained leaning against her counter sipping tea. He even had the gall to take a slow bite out of a scone.

"Draco!" She hissed, sensing that Harry was ready to go flying across the room.

"Potter, you should really have more respect for your friend's guest. At least let me finish my tea."

Growling, Harry lunged for Malfoy. He was so lost in his hatred for Draco that he didn't realize he'd inadvertently shoved Hermione to the floor in his haste. The two boys collided in a violent frenzy, Draco barely managing to avoid Harry's fist.

With the wind knocked out of her, Hermione could do nothing as the scuffle intensified. Harry was desperately trying to retrieve his wand from his coat pocket as Draco gripped his wrists in a vice grip, slowing his progress. Suddenly breaking one of his arms free Harry stopped reaching for his wand and drove his fist into Draco's nose instead.

"Stop it, Harry!" Hermione cried when she could finally take a breath, "You're being barbaric!"

Obviously lost to the rage that still remained from their past, Harry gave no indication of stopping or even that he'd heard her at all. Draco remained unmoving as Harry's fists rained down on him, not attempting to fight back.

Hermione watched as Draco's blood pooled on her kitchen floor and she felt a hard lump in her throat. It triggered a strong protective instinct within her and all she could think about was making his pain stop.

_He's ours._

Reaching into herself, she purposefully grasped at the slumbering beast within, allowing the tendrils of emerald green power to pulse through her body. Time seemed to slow in her kitchen as she rose to her feet and the air was thick with foreign energy. It was the first time she'd been vaguely cognizant during an episode and it was like she was watching the scene unfold from behind a two way mirror as her instincts took control.

"Enough." She stated, her own voice laced with a second, deeper tone. Directing her gaze at Harry, a shockwave erupted from her and a violent hurricane swept through the room. Stacks of mail and receipts swirled erratically and the couch cushions were pelted into the walls. Her disheveled hair was whipped out of her pony tail and created a menacing halo around her head. Harry was finally pulled off of Draco as the wind twisted around him, wrenching his body to the side. And than it was over; the wind died instantly and everything settled. The look of bewilderment on Harry's face remained fixed on her as he lay sprawled on the floor.

"Hermione? What just happened?" He inquired softly in contrast to his anger only moments ago.

Her breath came in gasps as she came fully back into herself, her hair was everywhere and she felt an ache building behind her eyes. Wiping sweat from her brow Hermione glared back at her friend.

"You will leave right now, Harry Potter! I will not have such unbridled rage present in my house. Get out."

Shame entered his eyes as he glanced back at Draco still laying on the floor, blood leaving thick trails down his face. Straightening slowly, Harry cradled his bloody knuckles as he stalked past Hermione and exited the way he'd come.

Rushing over to Draco, Hermione kneeled next to him and gingerly assessed the damage. His nose looked broken and his lips were split in several places. All the injuries were minimal and would heal easily with the right spells; she breathed a sigh of relief. Draco remained indifferent during her careful ministrations, eyes directed at the wall across the room. His quiet demeanour had her feeling frustrated and irritable.

"Why didn't you fight back?! You just allowed him to beat the tar out of you! Why didn't you do something!" She snapped, jerking his head to the side to get a better view of some bruising along his cheek. He hissed from her rough handling and bared his teeth. Hermione felt satisfaction at finally getting a reaction from him, but felt ashamed by the means in which she'd done it. "Sorry..." She muttered, softening her hold on his chin.

"I didn't fight back because he needed to release some of that pressure that was building inside of him. His face was turning as red as Weasley's hair, Granger."

"What are you spouting off about, Malfoy? Are you saying that you wanted Harry to hit you?" Hermione asked, retrieving her wand to mend Draco's injuries.

"I guess your knowledge of men isn't as extensive as I'd thought." He replied, smirking and than immediately wincing from the movement. "I can't speak for women, but men occasionally need to resort to violent methods in order to gain closure. Potter hates me, has always hated me but never had the chance to give that emotion an outlet. He's been laying idle on his bitterness for years. If he hadn't been given an opportunity to relief that pressure he'd start to rot from the inside - It would permeate into other, more important things in his life."

"So you let him beat you up to make him feel better?" She queried, not quite sure she fully grasped what he was explaining.

"Something like that."

"That's barbaric!" Hermione finished healing Draco's wounds and than sat back to examine her work. His nose no longer looked disfigured and the skin on his lip was once again whole. She found as she beheld her handiwork she couldn't help but wonder if Draco's skin was as soft as it looked. She wanted to stroke his cheek and find out. Shaking herself, she immediately banished the thought, keeping her hands firmly by her side.

"Call it what you want, Granger, but the war left emotional damage on everyone - no matter whose side you were on. We all had to learn ways of unravelling the carnage and letting it run it's course." Draco gingerly rose to his feet and went to her bathroom to examine the damage. She saw him give a nod of approval from where she still sat on the hard floor. Their eyes met in the mirror.

"Thank you." He said.

She glanced away and busied herself with scourgifying the blood from her hardwood.

Hermione supposed he was right. The war had left an ugly imprint on everyone in some way. It was as if someone had taken the stories of their lives and smeared them with crimson. She still occasionally had nightmares about the battle and woke up with tears streaming down her face. Ron and Harry had both been afflicted with horrible panic attacks that had left them temporarily lost in the tarnished segments of history.

They were both silent for a while, both lost in their own musings when Draco asked, "What happened to you when Potter was smashing my face? You looked like a phoenix rising from the ashes."

Unwilling to tell him the details of why she'd had an episode, she responded vaguely, "I don't like getting blood on my floor." She excluded the fact that it had been his blood on her floor that had disturbed her so much.

He scanned her face and after a moment seemed to accept her closed off reply. She inwardly sighed a breath of relief.

"What are you doing today?" He suddenly asked.

She actually hadn't thought much about her plans for the day. It had been such a whirlwind lately that she was mostly living moment by unpredictable moment. "I don't know. I was gonna talk to Harry, but that section of my plans fell through. Now my schedule seems wide open."

"Would you like to come somewhere with me?" Draco asked.

Hermione studied him for a moment. A big part of her screamed that it was a bad idea to spend more time than necessary with Draco Malfoy. He exuded a dangerously sly wit that constantly caught her off guard and his cleverness rivalled her own; he had proven himself an academic equal. Not only that but he had been kind to her on more then one occasion in the last two days... And that scared her. She didn't want to see him as anything other than the bully who had made her life a living hell when they were in school. But than again, maybe it was for this reason that she felt his company so intoxicating. He was an enigma to be studied.

"Why the hell not." She replied, using his own words from the evening they'd had tea together.

He gave her a lopsided grin that she hadn't seen before and her heart skipped a beat.

The two of them exited her apartment and made their way to the deserted alleyway to disapparate. Once at their destination, Hermione discovered that Draco had taken her to a street not unlike her own - several apartments perched on the upper levels of shops and pubs. The sound of friendly banter filled the air and it seemed like everybody was happy to know everybody. It was as if the down turned economy wasn't looming heavily on their shoulders as it had been on the residents of her own street. Giggling children even ran past her in a rush to find the next adventure that awaited them. She found she liked the atmosphere immediately.

Draco lead her down the street to a quaint pub nestled in between several other businesses. At first glance it appeared run down and she was hesitant to follow him through the front door. Draco glanced over his shoulder when she didn't immediately come in after him.

"Don't you trust me, Granger?"

"No. No, definitely not."

Draco laughed out loud and took her hand. The contact sent an electric shock through her arm, leaving it feeling tingly where his skin touched hers. The sensation distracted her enough that she forgot to resist as he gently pulled her into the pub with him. Hermione had to let her eyes adjust to the dim interior lighting and when she could finally see more than shadowy outlines she was pleasantly surprised.

The space as overflowing with books. Massive shelves took up the walls and each was teeming with all manner of volumes. Some had even been transferred onto the few tables scattered around the middle of the room just to make more space. Hermione saw several pillows piled into each corner as well to make comfy reading nooks. The only reason she knew she was still standing in a pub was the well worn bar that took up the far wall. A large man with an over abundance of facial hair stood behind it wiping glass mugs as he hummed off tune.

"Philip, I see you're anticipating the lunch rush already." Draco said to the burly man as he sauntered up to the bar.

Peering up from his rag and glass, Philip must have smiled at Draco because his eyes disappeared under his bushy eyebrows. Hermione couldn't help but be reminded of Hagrid when she looked at him.

"Draco, my boy! How are ye' this fine mornin?" He had a thick Scottish accent that made it a little harder for Hermione to understand him as he greeted Draco like an old friend.

"I'm doing well, thank you. I'd like you to meet an old school mate of mine." Draco gestured to Hermione who stood uncertainly behind him.

His eyes redirecting to Hermione, Philip's smile was replaced with a look of disbelief. Peering from her to Draco, then back at her and finally back at Draco he said, "Laddie, if I had gone to a school that beheld the likes of this bonnie lass, I ne'er woulda' left."

Blushing deeply, Hermione was taken aback by his kind words and even more so by Draco's reply.

"Sorry Philip, She's one of a kind."

Hermione made eye contact with Draco and felt the vibration fill her chest. His eyes held a sincerity that she'd never seen before and it was like she was seeing him for the first time. Some internal piece of herself felt like it'd suddenly fallen into place.

 _Mine_.

"Aye. What's yer name, darlin?" Philip asked her kindly, breaking the spell.

"What? .. Oh. I'm Hermione Granger."

"Philip Murray, at yer service." He responded, bowing forward.

Hermione found herself liking the Scot very much and smiled easily in return.

Turning his attention back to Draco, Philip gestured to the stairs hidden at the back of the pub, "Ya be sure to bring ol' Geppetto down for a biscuit soon, aye?"

"Of course, Phil. How is he supposed to keep his girth intact without your cooking?" Draco said as he led Hermione through the maze of tables and books to reach the stairs. Philip's booming laugh followed them up as they ascended the narrow steps.

"Whose Geppetto?" Hermione asked, recognizing the name from the Italian fairy tale, Pinocchio. They'd reached the door at the top and Draco pulled a set of keys out of his pocket.

"You'll see." He said, opening the door.

As soon as they had crossed the threshold, a manic barking ensued as a chubby beagle came bounding toward them. His ears flapped wildly and he snorted after each bark. Hermione could've sworn his tummy dragged on the ground as he waddled to them.

"You have a dog?!" She questioned, shock clear in her expression.

"I think Geppetto prefers to think of it as him having a human." Draco replied as he bent down to stroke the excited animals ears. Geppetto was panting fervently and leaned heavily into the pat, nearly falling over when Draco straightened.

Hermione kneeled to give the fat pup a pet as well and he lunged up to give her a sloppy kiss. She laughed while she cleaned the slobber off her cheek.

Having greeted them properly, the beagle waddled back into the living room with his tail high in the air. Hermione realized that Draco must have brought her to his home and she was ashamed to realize that it definitely wasn't the kind of place she had imagined him living. Malfoy Manor was still a key component of the nightmares she had and this was the polar opposite of the cold, menacing building Draco's family called home.

She followed him into the small kitchen. The space was immaculate, clearly he liked to have things tidy. But the signs of life made it appear homey and lived in instead of standoffish. There was a toaster and kettle on the counter and several of the magnets on the fridge showed off the popular places tourists like to visit when touring London. His sofa looked well worn, but comfortable and the dog bed in the corner of the room had rubber ducks on the fabric. What really caught her eye was the book shelf beside the window - it was filled with what appeared to be muggle children's stories and several books he'd clearly bought for school.

"I found Geppetto when I first moved here." Draco explained, leaning against the counter, "he was wandering the streets around the pub and had a horrible case of mange and malnutrition. I couldn't just leave him so I brought him back and got him the help he needed. Philip kind of made it his duty to make sure the poor pup was never hungry again. He may have taken it a little farther than he needed too though."

"How did you meet Philip?" Hermione asked, still peering around in curiosity.

"I heard about his pub from some classmates at the university and wanted to check it out for myself. He's a retired soldier and moved to the city because he wanted to give people a place to heal. Whether it was just a stop on their journey or a comfortable place for their ailing hearts. He says, 'There isn't nothing that can cure a hurting soul like a pint and a good book!' Once I showed up and he heard I was looking for a place to stay he offered me the apartment upstairs."

Draco clearly felt a high level of respect and gratitude for the pub owner. The reverent tone he used when describing the Scotsman made that evident. She didn't think she had seen Draco be thankful for anything, let alone the hospitality of another person.

Geppetto snored softly from his rubber ducky bed and Hermione found the silence to be companionable. She didn't feel pressure to encourage conversation or the tension from an awkward pause. Draco had moved over to the sofa and made himself comfortable while she remained in the kitchen studying the various tea he had piled neatly on the counter beside the kettle. A peace had filtered into her heart the moment she'd stepped into Draco's home and it was disarming. The vibration in her chest intensified and she found she yearned to close her eyes and enjoy the heat pulsing through her limbs...

"What's that sound, Granger? Are you.... Purring?"

Breaking from the spell, she cleared her throat dramatically and attempted to pull herself together. Had she actually been purring!? Civilized witches did not purr....

"No! I was not, don't be absurd. It was probably your dog." She countered, trying to banish the blush from her cheeks.

Draco smirked deviously, rose from the couch and slowly made it his way over to her. Just like in her dream this morning, she was being hunted.

"It sounded like it was coming from you. My dog does not purr." He said, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Neither do I." Hermione responded, not as confident as she had been when he'd still been on the other side of the room.

"Are you sure about that?" Draco stood directly in front of her now and the counter pressed into her lower back - she was boxed in. He smelled like her favourite bergamot tea and she found herself leaning in to breathe deeper. She felt like a cat rolling in catnip.

"Hermione... You're doing it again."

Reluctantly, Hermione glanced up to see Draco peering back at her intently. She felt the room heat up substantially as she stared back. "What'd you say?" She murmured.

"You're purring." He responded softly, slowly reaching up to brush his fingertip along the sensitive skin of her throat.

At the contact Hermione's heart hammered hard in her chest, the simple caress causing her to feel light headed. The beast slumbering in her rose to attention, and the sensation of the power waking up caused adrenaline to course through her veins. The smouldering heat being replaced with icy panic.

"No!" She exclaimed, shoving Draco away in her haste to staunch the flow of energy. He staggered back, caught his hip on the counter and ended up sprawled in a heap on the floor. Realizing what she'd done, she quickly knelt beside him to check the damage.

"Draco! I'm so sorry!" She apologized frantically, sure he'd be furious with her. He was gonna kick her out and say he wouldn't help her. She'd be alone again and back at square one...

"Granger, stop. It's okay."

Hermione froze, unsure she had heard him correctly.

"It's not the first time you've put me on my ass. At least you didn't call me a cockroach this time."

Rising to his feet, he offered her his hand. Allowing him to effortlessly pull her to her feet, Hermione was speechless in response to his immediate forgiveness.

"It's getting worse isn't it?" He asked, obviously referring to the growing monster within her.

"It's affected me twice today and it's barely lunch time." She confided, glad for the distraction. What had she been doing letting Draco get so close to her. He'd even touched her! And she'd liked it.....

"Was the first time during my friendly encounter with Potter this morning?" He asked, returning to his previous position on the couch.

Joining him, Hermione nodded while she leaned down to pet his slumbering dog.

"Why was Potter at your house anyways?"

"He came to talk about what happened with Ron." Hermione's heart broke when she recalled how hurt Ron had looked when he'd stormed out of her apartment. Guilt over what had happened with Draco just moments ago gripped her heart. She tried to ignore it. "I also wanted to ask him about parseltongue."

"Because you wanted to know if what happened with Cyrus yesterday was the same as when he could talk to snakes?"

"Yeah, maybe the two are connected. I've never heard of any other occasion in history where anyone had talked to serpents."

"Well maybe if you'd take a bite out of Cyrus you could understand more than just snakes."

Confused, Hermione scrunched her brow, "Excuse me?"

Draco reached over her to the bookshelf, his bergamot scent invading her senses. He retrieved a thin book with gold writing on the cover and handed it to her.

** The Complete Grimm's Fairytales **

"You read the Grimm Brothers?" She asked, recognizing the book as one her parents had given her as a young girl.

"Muggle literature has been an outstanding surprise since I moved here. The Brothers Grimm is one of my favourites." Draco said, surprising her further. "I was referring to 'The White Snake'. The story about the servant who discovers he can talk to animals after taking a bite out of a white snake."

She was familiar with the tale. He was right, it was an amazing piece of literature. But unfortunately, it still left them without anywhere else to go. If only she could remember of any other incidents where another witch or wizard had been able to understand animals. She could always go to the Ministry and look up old files pertaining to the information she currently had and go from there...

Suddenly, Hermione remembered something she'd packed away days ago for future investigation. There was someone else who seemed to understand snakes: Mrs. Goggins.

"I know where we need to go next." She said, excitement building.

"Alright, let's go." Draco responded, rising to his feet and heading for the door, "But not until Geppetto gets a biscuit."

As if on cue, the stumpy dog scrambled to his feet and dashed for the stairs, his claws clacking on the hard floor. As Hermione hurried after the canine, she brushed past Draco as he held the door open. The smell of bergamot haunted her descent down the steps. 

 

 

 

 


	7. Ashes to Ashes

**Chapter 6**

_“Sometimes I remember that I can't always protect those I love." Under his fingers, her hair was soft and silky._

_She didn't try to tell him that he wasn't God, that he couldn't protect everyone. He knew that._

_But knowing and believing were two different things. What she did say succeeded in stopping his heart. "I wish you'd love me."_

_"Why?"_

_"Because then maybe you could protect me, too" Haunting sorrow whispered through her tone.”_

_\- Nalini Singh "Slave to Sensation"_

\-----

The Ministry was crowded as people filtered through the main chambers. The employees dragged their feet, depressed by the hasty end to the weekend. Hermione made herself as inconspicuous as possible to avoid her colleagues inevitable inquiries about her health and well-being. She'd slept fitfully and wasn't in the mood to ward off the obligated politeness from co-workers she rarely spoke too.

Yesterday had proved to be a futile attempt in her search for Mrs. Goggins. After Geppetto had eaten his own weight in Phil's homemade biscuits, she'd lost track of time sifting through the collection of books the pub owner made available to his patrons. She'd luxuriated in the smell of parchment and been lulled by the dim torch light. Before she realized how much time had passed, Draco informed her that it was past dinner time and he needed to be at school in the morning. They'd agreed to meet at the Ministry after he was done his classes and she would go see Fionnula Goggins on her own. Hermione tried to ignore how much she felt Draco's absense as she headed for the Floo Network.

He'd become a much bigger part of her journey than she had anticipated and it made this mystery much more complicated. She no longer saw the bully who'd tormented her at Hogwarts. Now he was a polite, kind and clever young man and every time he made her laugh, it got harder to keep her distance. The more she found herself liking him, the angrier she became. What would her friends say? It felt like a betrayal to Harry and Ron every time she found herself staring at him when he wasn't paying attention, or when she wondered if he would taste as good as he smelled?

Hermione almost stumbled over a goblin who crossed her path, the near collision bringing her back to the present. Mumbling a sincere apology, she forced herself to focus on the mission at hand. The line for the Floo Network was longer than usual today so she waited patiently for her turn when a familiar voice called behind her.

"Hermione? What are you doing here?"

Glancing over her shoulder she saw David Hopkins striding toward her.

"Mr. Hawke gave you the week off, why aren't you resting?" He asked, taking his own place in line behind her.

"I actually wanted to check in with Mrs. Goggins and see how the repairs on her house went after we left." Hermione lied effortlessly, having prepared her response to this particular question in advance.

"What a coincidence! That's where I was headed as well. Would you like to go together? It might look better for the department if we were to both make an appearance."

Unable to think of a reasonable excuse to avoid this turn of events, Hermione reluctantly agreed. The two of them entered the fireplace together and were engulfed in emerald flames. Bird cages surrounded them as they exited the hearth and Hermione was overcome with a strong sense of déjà vu. Mrs. Goggins was no where to be seen and the house was ominously quiet.

"Mrs. Goggins?" David called into the stillness. There was no response.

Dread slowly crept into her heart as they moved through the house. It wasn't until they'd entered the kitchen that they finally found the woman they were searching for. Mrs. Goggins lay haphazardly on her floor, staring vacantly at an empty bird cage.

"Mrs. Goggins? Are you okay? We're just here to follow up on the repairs to your house." David said.

The older woman's hair was falling out of her prim bun and make up smudged the underside of her eyes. She remained on the floor seemingly unaware to their presence in her home. Hermione cautiously crept forward, not taking her eyes off the witch. As she got closer she noticed that inside the birdcage was a small pile of ashes. Kneeling down next to Mrs. Goggins, Hermione lightly placed her hand on her shoulder.

"Fionnula? Ma'am? Can we help you in some way?" Hermione asked, keeping her voice low.

"No one can help."

The words were barely audible and Hermione had to bend closer to hear them clearly. She watched the light slowly come back to Mrs. Goggins eyes as she turned her head to glance in their direction, finally acknowledging their presence.

"What are you two buffoons doing here?" She questioned harshly, coming out of the trance.

David and Hermione peered at each other in confusion.

"Uh.. We are here to check on the status of the damage to your house, ma'am. The ministry sent an owl early this morning..." David responded, evidently unsure on how to handle the situation.

"Yes, I got the owl. Now instead of just standing there like a delinquent why don't you go outside and do your job."

David forced a polite smile in response and hastily left out the back door, leaving the two woman sitting on the floor.

"And what are you here for? It'd be absolutely absurd for the Ministry to send two of you for such a simple task." Mrs. Goggins addressed Hermione, her tone less hostile.

Caught off guard by the abrupt question, Hermione took a moment before speaking. "I actually wanted to ask you about the snakes we found on Friday."

Gracefully rising to her feet, Fionnula picked up the bird cage and started down the hallway, leaving Hermione to scramble after her.

"What about them? You're dense co-worker blew them all up."

Placing the cage down amongst the menagerie of others, Mrs. Goggins finally turned to face Hermione.

"You told us they were making a noise, what kind of a noise was it?" Hermione asked, realizing this woman didn't want to beat around the bush.

"The snakes talk to me, they always have. That absurdly large den was simply to much for me to handle. I needed them gone."

Hermione blinked a few times as she registered what the woman had just revealed. That was easier then she'd anticipated. "What do you mean they talk to you?"

Rolling her eyes in a haughty way, Mrs. Goggins brushed past Hermione on her way back to the kitchen, "I mean they use words to communicate with me. They've done it since I was a small girl."

"Are you a parselmouth?" Hermione asked, trying to stem the flow of endless questions that were wanting to spill out of her.

"No! Of course not. Only dark wizards have that disgusting gift, you silly girl. Now enough questions, I want you and that Hopkin's fellow to leave immediately."

Hermione was suddenly filled with frustrated anger. This woman was the first real lead she had to discover what was happening and she was being cut off from finally getting the answers she wanted!

"Mrs. Goggins! When we arrived, we found you sprawled on your floor staring at a bloody bird cage! We were concerned for your well-being but you shoved our worries aside in favour of your hostile behaviour. I understand that you prefer to live alone but have you ever considered that the reason your house is filled with empty birdcages instead of any prove of happy memories is because of your condescending and prudish behaviour?!"

The older woman gazed at Hermione is disbelief. The rush of anger she'd experienced evaporated to make way for shame. She'd never spoken so harshly to a near stranger before. David picked that moment to walk in the back door. Sensing the obvious tension between the two women he cleared his throat,

"Well everything seems to be in order, Mrs. Goggins. I guess we will be on our way then. Hermione I'll meet you by the hearth."

He made a swift getaway down the hallway and silence fell over the witches once again.

"My... Husband passed away two years ago. My house isn't filled with what you would consider evidence of happiness, but I feel it. The memories that haunt me, the constant emptiness that's left in the wake of his departure. Those happy memories are now sullied with the agony of grief and it's torture."

Hermione's regret turned toxic as Fionnula continued to speak, "My birds are all I have left. The memories of each and every one still live in these cages just like my husband still lives in this house. But the fact is that I simply cannot keep them. Every time I yearn for them to stay the fire steals them away, leaving only ashes behind. You and Mr. Hopkin's were unfortunate enough to witness the aftermath of such an event today and death brings out the worst in people. Now I would like to be left alone. Please leave."

Hermione felt tears collect in the corners of her eyes and pawed at the moisture. With nothing more to say, she gave Mrs. Goggins a humble nod and trudged down the hallway to meet David. The older witch's despair following her like a shadow.

"Is she okay?" David asked hesitantly.

"Let's just go." Hermione responded, stepping into the fireplace.

He looked at her curiously before taking his own position and they made a swift return to the Ministry. Hermione's heart ached as she considered Mrs. Goggin's parting testimony. She hadn't taken the time to consider why Fionnula was such an unpleasant woman, let alone entertain the possibility that it was a result of grief and loneliness. Her own selfish naivety was astounding in hindsight.

David walked with her as she exited the Floo Network, clearly assuming she wasn't in the right mindset to travel the small distance to the main chamber alone.

"Grumpy old witches aside, it was wonderful seeing you today, Hermione." He said.

"Thanks David." She mumbled in reply, wishing desperately that he would leave her alone. It would be a few hours until Draco met her here and she wanted to search through the Goggins family records to see if they gave her any hints on the origin of Fionnula's ability. It was all she had to go on at this point and she was feeling discouraged and weepy.

"So, I was wondering if you had a date for the Correspondence Dinner?" David asked, not taking a hint.

Hermione had completely forgotten about the formal event this coming weekend. The Magical Creatures Correspondence Dinner was an annual event thrown by the Ministry to bring all the species of the Wizarding World together. It was an evening of fancy cocktails and glimmering dresses and because of her position as a translator, she was required to attend.

"No actually, I don't." she responded sullenly, remembering her tarnished relationship with Ron. They were now standing in front of the elevators that would take her down to the public records and she prayed the doors would open and save her from this awkward exchange.

"Would you like to go with me?"

The elevator doors dinged loudly as Hermione considered his proposition. She had no one to be her plus one, especially since Harry and Ginny would already be coming together: Harry got invites to everything seeing as he saved the entirety of the Wizarding World.

_Draco_

The voice in her head chanted loudly as she replied, "Can I think about it?"

Looking crestfallen, David solemnly nodded, "Of course, take your time."

Hermione gave a small smile as the door closed between them and she felt the elevator descend. She was finally alone.

Her headache was increasing as the day wore on and her limbs were heavy as she moved. Rubbing her eyes to help alleviate the pressure, she wondered why these symptoms seemed so sporadic. Occasionally, she didn't even notice them and she felt healthy as a horse! But other times they were crippling in intensity and left her desperate for some of the muggle aspirin her mother had kept on hand.

Exiting the elevator, Hermione made her way through the labyrinth of hallways to the public records room. She passed no one along the way as it was the middle of the morning and most of this level was made up of courtrooms that were in session. Sifting through the documents, Hermione looked up the name Goggins first. Unaware of Fionnula's maiden name she figured if she found her husband's file, she could go from there. Especially considering she doubted that the older witch would welcome another visit from her anytime soon.

Having quickly accomplished what she'd set out to do, Hermione made her way back up to the main chambers to wait for Draco with the files in hand. Her headache pounding through her skull with every step.

A majority of Ministry workers must be departing to lunch because there was a mass of people milling about when she reached the main floor. Keeping her head low, Hermione made her way to fountain to rest as the horde of voices buzzed through her ears. Her skin felt flushed as her vision became hazy around the edges and the floor seemed to warp under her feet. She was helpless as her feet faltered and the stone floor rushed to greet her like a long lost friend. He heart stopped as she braced for the brutal impact.

It never came.

Strong hands gripped her around the waist and gently lifted her upright.

"You sure have a hard time staying on your feet around me, Granger. No need to swoon."

Her heart slammed against her rib cage at the sound of Draco's familiar voice. His arms encircled her torso tightly and he looked down at her with his trademark grin plastered to his face. Bergamot filled her nose and she had the sudden urge to nuzzle her face in his neck.

After being rejected by Mrs. Goggins, warding off advances from David and the disappointing lack of victory that day, Hermione was at the end of her rope. All that coupled by her excruciating headache, she couldn't negate the overwhelming joy and warmth she felt sweeping through her veins at seeing Draco. Overcome with an unexpected wave of tears, she buried her face into his chest, grasping desperately at the peace he induced.

"Hermione? What's wrong?" He inquired, holding tighter to her waist as he witnessed her distress. After a few moments of her continued sobbing, his hand rested gently on the back of her head and he laid his cheek atop her hair, fully cradling her in his strong embrace. Heat coursed through her body and silenced the turmoil within her.

She remained pressed up against him until the tremors stopped, and it was in that moment that she realized what had eradicated her flu like symptoms intermittently the past few days: Draco.

When she was with him her headache evaporated and her exhaustion was replaced with sedated contentment. Even as she stood within his embrace she felt like she'd taken a painkiller and her relief was tangible. He was a drug that she was becoming swiftly addicted too and she couldn't bring herself to feel worried about it anymore.

"Hermione! Are you okay?"

David's voice broke through the cloud of her revelation and she wanted to hiss at the interruption of this intimate moment. She regretfully went to pull away and was pleased to notice that Draco was reluctant to relinquish his hold on her. His tender protectiveness caused her braincells to stop working and she felt heat flow to places that hadn't been warm in a long time.

"Hermione?" David insisted.

Draco's arms slowly loosened and she took that opportunity to take a step away from him. She suddenly couldn't think straight with him so close and the lack of his warmth almost made her cry out. She wished David would disappear.

"I'm fine, David." She said pleasantly, plastering a smile on her face, "It's just been an exhausting morning."

"I told you that you should be resting."David replied, shaking his head as if she was a child that had done something ridiculous, "Let me take you home."

He reached out and offered her his hand and Hermione instinctively stepped away. Her back bumped up against Draco's chest and she went to pull away except his hand wrapped protectively around her hip, sending sparks through her bloodstream.

David looked crestfallen as he spotted Draco's hand at her side and he let his outstretched hand fall.

"I think Hermione can find her own way home, don't you?" Draco spoke from over her shoulder, his tone leaving scarce room for argument.

"I was just proposing someone go with her to make sure she makes it home okay." David explained, back pedalling.

"What a fine idea, sir! Hermione, let me take you home!" Draco said, gently steering her in the opposite direction, not even sparring David a backward glance.

"Draco, that was very rude." Hermione halfheartedly scolded even though she was relieved to be walking away. 

"So? How you're feeling is none of that bloke's business and he should keep his nose out of your life."

There was a tone in his voice when he talked about David that Hermione had never heard before. She looked up at him and noticed his mouth was set in a hard line and his hand still remained secured around her. Was Draco Malfoy jealous? Her heart fluttered in her chest at the thought and she felt a blush on her cheeks. The idea of Draco being jealous of David's interest in her shouldn't please her so much. She felt like purring.

"Did you get what you needed from the snake lady today?"

Draco's question brought her back to the reality of why she was even at the Ministry today.

"I think I got everything that I can." Hermione replied, sighing heavily.

"Good, than let's go home and see if you, me and Geppetto can't Sherlock Holmes the hell out of this."

Hermione's laughter could be heard even after they disapparated away.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a short update that's mostly intended to illustrate a new development in Draco and Hermione's relationship. It's been a while since I wrote a chapter and I wanted to get this one out so I could give my full attention to furthering the plot in the next instalment. I've also been waiting for my BETA reader to catch up to where we are in the story, so that it could be better for everybody just tuning in! Hopefully it won't be so long before we get to see this mystery unfold further!


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